ii- . 

/<5- 


L 


"  'THE   VOICE   THAT    SPEAKS   TO    ME    HERE 


Bab.s   the 
Impossible 

By    SARAH    GRAND 

AUTHOR    OF    "THE    HEAVENLY 
TWINS"  ETC. 

ILLUSTRATED    BY 
ARTHUR  I.  KELLER 


MDCCCC1 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS 
YORK  AND   LONDON 


Copyright,  I9oo,  by  SARAH  GRAND. 
*SU  right*  resent*. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


;  '  THE   VOICE   THAT   SPEAKS   TO   ME   HERE '"   .      .      .      .  Frontispiece 

IN   HER   HURRY   SHE   TIPPED   UP  THE   TABLE"     .      .      .     Facing  p.  4 

''YOU   LOOK   ALMIGHTY    SOLEMN1" "  54 

''YOU   ARE   TOO   KIND,    I'M    SURE,'  SAID   MISS    SPICE"    .  "  78 

''YOU   ARE   QUITE   A   PALMIST*" "  I2O 

'  'HE    IMPRINTED    A    KISS    ON    MY    LIPS '  " "  130 

'  'CONFOUND  THOSE  CATS!'  HE  SAID" "  i?8 

'A   CURIOUS   CHANGE    PASSED   OVER    MR.    JELLYBOND 

TINNEY" "  220 

'  '  I  SEED  MISS  LORRAINE  A-COMIN*  OOP  T*  DRIVE  '  "  .  222 

'  '  YOU     GIVE     ME     NOTHING     BUT     NATURE,     AND     I'M 

HUMAN'" "  234 

''THAT  BOY'S  DEATH  LIES  AT  YOUR  DOOR'"    ...  "  272 

'SHE  SAT  STARING  AT  HIM,  HORRIBLY  FASCINATED".  "  286 

'  'I  MUST  GET  OUT  INTO  THE  AIR;  I'M  SUFFOCATING*"  "  306 

'BARBARA  WAS  SINGING  TO  BABS" "  338 

1  '  YOU  ARE  GOING  WITHOUT  EVEN  HAVING  PROPOSED 

TO  ME'" "  378 

'  '  YE  UNDERSTAND,  I  TRUST,  WHOSE  WRONGS  I'VE 

REVENGED'" "  396 

'  '  YOU  MIGHT  AT  LEAST  HAVE  WAITED  UNTIL  I  WAS 

MARRIED'" "  414 

'  SHE  CAME  INTO  VIOLENT  COLLISION  WITH  SQUIRE 

NORMANTON  " "  432 

'  '  YOU  ARE  GOING  TO  MARRY  AUNT  LORRAINE  !'  "  .  .  "  452 
«  iii 


BABS    THE     IMPOSSIBLE 

Do  you  think  that  only  those  who  have  reached 
maturity  are  interesting  ?  You  forget  that  the  bud 
may  be  sweeter,  and  often  in  form  is  more  beautiful, 
than  the  full-blown  flower ;  and  surely  dimly  fore- 
shadowed possibilities,  by  causing  pleasurable  con- 
jectures, delight  the  mind  and  exercise  it  more 
wholesomely  than  those  dry  facts  which  have  but 
to  be  acquired,  and  leave  nothing  to  be  anticipated, 
hoped  for,  or  feared,  because  they  leave  nothing 
doubtful.  Pause,  then,  a  moment  here  and  con- 
template these  children. 


PROEM 


THERE,  on  the  brow  of  the  hill,  pausing  involuntarily, 
as  though  taken  unawares,  and  with  a  sigh  of  satis- 
faction in  joy  of  the  prospect,  the  wayfarer  lingered 
awhile.  Below,  and  round  about,  there  curved  an  un- 
dulating valley,  a  happy,  fertile  space  of  wood  and  water, 
meadow  and  arable  lands,  bounded  by  gentle  eminences, 
and  on  the  highest,  dominating  all,  an  old  gray  tower. 
The  wild  woods  climbed  to  the  foot  of  the  tower  and 
there  stood  sentinel,  dark  and  threatening,  as  though 
they  guarded  a  treasure.  Lower  down  the  hill  was  the 
mansion  to  which  the  tower  belonged ;  but  because  of 
the  giant  trees  its  presence  was  scarcely  to  be  suspected. 
It  was  the  tower  that  commanded  attention.  On  the 
other  side  of  the  valley  the  smoke  betrayed  a  village, 
which  was  also  not  to  be  seen  because  of  the  sheltering 
trees.  Concealment  was  the  characteristic  of  the  whole 
neighborhood.  It  was  as  if  the  inhabitants  had  com- 
bined to  hide  their  dwellings.  At  the  first  glance  it 
seemed  as  if  the  valley  were  uninhabited  ;  but  a  search- 
ing eye  discovered  the  gables  of  some  few  gentlemen's 
houses  nestling  among  the  woods  ;  not  many,  though, 
for  the  estates  of  the  land-owners  thereabouts  were  all 
extensive.  Kingconstance,  of  Dane  Court ;  Normanton, 
of  Normanton  Hall,  the  Wyldes,  of  Wyldeholme ;  and 

vii 


PROEM 

Cadenhouse  owned  all  the  property  in  sight,  and  much 
besides;  and  the  population  of  the  neighborhood  con- 
sisted, for  the  most  part,  of  the  tenants  and  laborers  on 
their  various  estates.  On  a  still  day,  in  a  district  which 
seemed  so  sparsely  populated,  the  many  and  various 
sounds  of  life  which  were  heard  ascending  from  unseen 
sources  produced  a  strange  effect.  The  barking  of  dogs, 
the  lowing  of  cattle  and  cackle  of  poultry,  hammerings 
and  shoutings  and  snatches  of  song,  uprose  continu- 
ally, but  muffled,  as  though  they  were  echoes  of  olden 
times,  full  fraught  with  mysterious  significance.  And 
above  all  was  the  sound  of  bells. 

From  the  square  church  tower  of  Danehurst,  and  from 
an  invisible  spire  farther  away  and  another  nearer  at 
hand,  across  the  quiet  fields  they  floated  up  to  the  brow 
of  the  hill — the  notes — intermittent,  recurrent,  persistent; 
notes  of  joy  and  sadness,  chime  and  toll,  marriage  and 
burial ;  the  ordinary  inevitable  warning  of  the  hour 
from  quarter  to  quarter,  which  means  so  much  or  so 
little,  according  to  the  mood  it  strikes  ;  and  the  Sabbath 
jangle,  in  which  was  invitation  to  rest,  to  pray,  to  aspire, 
to  be  at  peace ;  all  tinged  with  melancholy,  and  all 
curiously  remote.  Indeed,  so  remote  in  its  aspect  was 
the  whole  beautiful  region  that  it  was  hard  to  realize  that 
there  entered  into  it  any  experience  not  of  romance  or 
fairy,  that  under  the  picturesque  chimney-stacks  of 
those  great  houses,  behind  the  gables  of  those  pointed 
roofs,  sheltered  by  opinion,  cradled  in  luxury  for  ages, 
with  the  inherited  ease  and  refinement  of  a  privileged 
class  to  aid  them  in  their  social  intercourse,  far  from 
the  blatantly  wicked  world — it  was  hard  to  realize  that 
there  humanity  seethed  the  same  as  in  sordid  surround- 
ings in  its  passions,  its  ambitions,  its  greatness,  and  its 

viii 


PROEM 

littleness,  that  there,  as  elsewhere,  the  delights  of  love 
were  embowered  and  the  bitterness  of  hate.  It  was 
an  impression  of  perfect  serenity  that  the  mind  received 
from  the  scene.  In  the  contemplation  of  that  happy 
valley,  with  its  running  streams  like  ribbons  of  silver, 
shining  and  sparkling,  its  quiet  fields  and  stately  woods, 
all  nestling  in  the  sheltering  embrace  of  the  gentle,  pro- 
tecting hills,  the  desire  for  love  itself  grew  faint  as  break- 
ing wavelets  in  a  summer  calm,  and  thoughts  of  evil  in 
association  with  the  place  jarred  like  a  discord.  Buddha 
himself  might  have  found  a  Bo  tree  there  and  entered 
into  ecstasy  undisturbed. 

So  it  seemed,  for  the  country  all  round  was  curiously 
out  of  the  world  for  this  age  of  ours.  It  was  seventeen 
miles  from  a  railway  station,  and  the  fault,  if  fault  it 
were,  had  been  the  fault  of  the  Cadenhouse  of  that  day, 
who,  when  the  question  of  railways  arose,  had  had  no 
mind  to  have  his  lovely  lands  defaced,  and  all  the  heaven- 
ly tranquillity  of  the  vale  disturbed  by  a  shrieking  mon- 
ster of  iron  and  unrest,  bringing  in  its  wake  the  vulgar 
herd,  with  defilement  of  smoke,  and  blight  of  sulphur 
and  scalding  steam.  He  objected,  and  the  inhabitants 
had  upheld  him  in  his  objection.  They  had  prayed 
that  the  trains  might  pass  them  by  on  the  other  side  of 
the  county,  and  their  prayer  had  been  granted — much 
to  their  subsequent  chagrin  when  they  found  themselves 
left  high  and  dry  in  their  village  of  Danehurst,  on  the 
confines  of  what  men  call  progress ;  near  enough  to  be 
moved  by  the  wind  of  it,  and  to  appreciate  their  loss,  but 
too  far  off  to  have  the  emotions  infused  into  them  which 
should  have  stirred  them  from  the  stagnation  of  genera- 
tions and  roused  them  to  energy  and  enterprise.  So 
nobody  was  satisfied — nobody,  that  is  to  say,  but  Caden- 


PROEM 

house,  son  of  the  objector — the  Cadenhouse  of  to-day, 
our  Cadenhouse. 

He  had  in  his  early  youth  travelled  much  and  seen 
much  of  mankind,  and  then,  because  he  wanted  to  com- 
prehend, he  came  home.  People  go  to  the  cities  to  see 
life ;  but  when  they  want  to  know  life  they  return  to  the 
quiet  fields.  Human  nature  is  the  same  everywhere, 
but  it  is  in  single  specimens,  and  not  in  the  restless  mass, 
stripped  of  all  individuality  and  moulded  by  friction  into 
conventional  forms,  that  the  student  still  finds  traits 
which  are  worth  his  research. 

The  old  gray  tower  belonged  to  Lord  Cadenhouse,  and 
there  he  spent  much  of  his  time.  By  the  many,  he  him- 
self and  his  tower  were  freely  discussed  for  a  certain 
mystery  that  attached  to  them.  What  he  did  there 
exactly  people  could  not  guess — whether  he  studied 
astronomy  or  astrology,  whether  he  sought  to  commune 
with  the  highest  by  means  of  fasting  and  prayer,  or  with 
the  lowest  by  means  of  charms  and  incantation,  whether 
his  knowledge  were  ordinary  or  occult,  had  not  been  ex- 
plained to  them ;  but  they  knew  he  did  something  un- 
usual, if  not  uncanny,  such  as  sitting  up  alone  at  night, 
and  therefore  they  held  him  in  the  same  kind  of  con- 
sideration in  which  they  held  other  phenomena  when 
they  suspected  potential  qualities  that  might  at  any  mo- 
ment result  in  surprises.  Popular  interest  in  him  might 
lapse,  but  it  never  failed.  He  formed  the  stand-by  of 
conversation  at  all  gatherings.  The  other  land-owners 
were  strangely  reserved  about  him.  They  spoke  freely 
of  Billy  Normanton  and  his  little  weakness  for  whiskey 
in  the  evenings,  of  young  Wylde,  who  had  the  reputation 
of  being  much  the  same  by  nature  as  by  name,  and  of 
Mrs.  Kingconstance,  the  widow,  and  how  she  was  handi- 


PROEM 

capped,  so  far  as  marrying  again  might  go,  by  having 
to  nurse  the  property  for  that  delicate  boy  Montacute. 
They  pitied  her,  too,  for  being  saddled  with  that  sister- 
in-law  of  hers,  poor  Miss  Lorraine  Kingconstance,  and 
did  not  expect  her  two  daughters  to  be  much  of  a  comfort 
to  her,  either — Julia  would  want  some  managing,  my 
word !  and  as  to  Lorraine  the  younger — commonly  called 
Babs  the  Impossible — why,  didn't  the  name  amply  de- 
scribe her  ?  But  when  it  came  to  Cadenhouse,  criticism 
ran  dry.  They  had  no  fault  to  find  with  him,  but  that 
in  itself  was  a  fault.  They  felt  a  certain  aloofness  in 
him  which  did  not  please  them.  But  of  all  this  Caden- 
house himself  had  no  suspicion.  It  had  not  occurred  to 
him  that  he  and  his  tower  would  be  talked  about  at  all. 

Cadenhouse  loved  the  tower,  and  had  found  fertilizing 
food  for  thought  in  the  associations  that  clung  about  it. 
It  had  been  built  for  a  watch-tower  in  olden  times.  The 
lands  about  were  near  enough  to  the  sea-coast  to  be  liable 
to  incursion.  Roman  and  Norseman  and  Norman  had 
been  there  in  turn,  harrying  the  people  ;  and  there  were 
still  found  bones  and  weapons,  and  ornaments  cunning- 
ly wrought  in  precious  metals,  eloquent  traces  of  the  hu- 
man being,  the  same  then  as  now  in  his  primitive  at- 
tributes, the  wild  beast  in  him  glorying  in  bloodshed, 
and  the  reproductive  animal  artfully  adorning  himself 
to  allure.  Many  a  mighty  man  had  been  spied  from 
the  top  of  the  tower  and  speared  at  its  foot,  and  many  a 
beautiful,  healthy,  happy  creature.  Blood !  it  was 
always  blood  !  And,  although  the  tide  of  war  which 
swirled  about  the  tower  had  ebbed  away  ages  ago,  the 
tradition  remained.  The  history  of  the  tower  is  the 
history  of  civilization.  The  law  of  love  has  established 
churches  to  enforce  it,  and  it  is  on  the  lips  of  many 


PROEM 

priests,  but  in  the  hearts  of  how  few  !  The  power  of  love 
is  little  suspected  and  less  understood ;  but  the  power  of 
hate  is  glorified.  Love  is  preached,  but  hate  is  practised. 
Yet  slowly,  in  spite  of  everything,  the  law  fulfils  itself. 
The  tide  has  turned.  About  the  tower  where  blood 
flowed  freely  once,  and  dastardly  deeds  of  cruelty  were 
approved,  the  grass  grows  green.  The  watcher  on  the 
summit  no  longer  fears  the  foe — he  gazes  to  other  pur- 
pose now.  On  bright,  clear  days  he  looks  down  tran- 
quilly on  the  tranquil  land — green,  fertile,  well  wooded, 
well  watered — on  husbandmen  ploughing  or  reaping  or 
sowing,  on  garnered  grain  and  grazing  cattle,  and  every 
evidence  of  happy  industry,  of  peace  and  plenty ;  while 
away  in  the  distance,  yet  well  within  sight,  there  sparkles, 
bright  blue  and  mysterious,  a  beautiful  strip  of  sea. 
White-winged  yachts  flit  over  it,  ocean  steamships  pass 
to  their  ports,  fleets  of  fishing-smacks  with  ruddy  sails 
drop  out  from  under  the  hill  and  stream  away  single  file 
to  their  fishing-grounds,  full-rigged  ships  haunt  the  ho- 
rizon, and  near  the  shore  moves  an  occasional  pleasure- 
boat,  idle,  aimless,  but  not  inactive.  Nothing  more  beau- 
tiful, more  indicative,  than  that  prospect  of  earth  and 
sea  and  sky  was  ever  seen.  There  was  included  in  the 
limitless  expanse  all  that  makes  life  lovely  here,  while 
in  the  mystery  of  its  blue  distances,  in  its  immensity, 
were  suggestions  of  the  infinite,  and  of  that  which 
argues  in  us  for  something  beyond  our  finite  faculties 
and  for  eternity. 

xii 


BARS 
THE    IMPOSSIBLE 


CHAPTER     I 

BABS  the  Impossible  sat  on  the  edge  of  her  bed, 
looking  up,  with  the  face  of  an  angel  and  a  heart 
full  of  guile.    She  was  looking  at  the  portrait  of 
an  ancestor  of  hers  on  the  wall  opposite.     Her 
ancestor  had  merry  eyes  that  followed  her  all  about  the 
room.     He  had  been  put  there  in  disgrace  for  having 
had  himself  so  badly  painted  ;  but  he  did  not  seem  to 
mind.     Neither  did  Babs  when  she  was  sent  there  in 
disgrace,  which  was  pretty  often. 

"  I'm  bored,"  she  said  in  herself,  addressing  the  por- 
trait.    "  What  shall  I  do  next?" 

And,  as  if  from  the  portrait  in  answer,  there  came  to 
her  the  words : 

"There  is  a  power  whose  care 

Traces  thy  way  along  the  pathless  coast, 
The  desert,  and  illimitable  air, 
Lone  wand'ring,  but  not  lost." 

Babs  sat  with  her  eyes  on  her  ancestor,  reflecting 
deeply.     It  was  not  the  first  time  the  oracle  had  delivered 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

to  her  that  same  inscrutable  suggestion,  and  she  could 
not  make  it  out. 

One  of  the  blinds  was  up,  but  there  was  nothing 
special  to  look  at  outside.  On  a  sudden,  however,  a 
strange  light  flowed  across  the  valley  from  the  summit 
of  the  hill  opposite.  It  shone  right  into  the  chamber 
where  Babs  sat,  and  she  transferred  her  attention  to 
it.  She  knew  that  light  of  old.  As  a  rule,  it  was 
elusive,  but  there  were  times  when  it  glowed  like  a 
sentient  thing  with  colors  that  came  and  went  to  show 
emotion.  Now  for  a  moment  it  flashed  forth  red,  green, 
and  milky  white ;  but  instantly  it  had  assumed  its 
elusive  appearance,  and  shone  a  soft,  luminous  haze 
in  the  distance.  So  rapid  was  the  transformation  that 
Babs  thought  she  had  been  deceived  in  her  first  im- 
pression. 

"  Cadenhouse  has  come  home,"  she  said  to  herself, 
solemnly ;  then  she  arose. 

She  had  had  a  busy  day,  but  a  day  of  doubtful  de- 
lights. Pursuits  that  she  had  entered  upon  in  eager  an- 
ticipation of  pleasure  had  not  proved  to  be  so  very  amus- 
ing, after  all.  In  contemplation  of  them,  her  plans  had 
all  been  promising,  but  when  she  tried  to  work  them 
out  something  for  which  she  had  not  allowed  came  into 
the  game,  and  made  it  perplexing  and  difficult,  instead 
of  easy  and  agreeable. 

First  of  all,  there  had  been  lessons  and  the  ever-recur- 
ring disputes  with  her  governess.  Babs  disliked  books. 
She  never  had  the  slightest  curiosity  to  know  what  was 
in  them,  although  she  was  fifteen.  What  she  understood 
by  learning  did  not  allure  her.  She  had  no  ambition  to 
be  master  of  any  subject,  and  it  was  in  vain  that  Miss 
Minton,  her  governess,  had  striven  to  stir  up  a  proper 
spirit  of  emulation  in  her. 

"  You  will  be  sorry  for  it  by-and-by,"  Miss  Minton  had 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

said  to  her  only  that  morning  in  the  school-room.  "  Look 
at  Julia—" 

"Physical  impossibility,"  said  Babs,  impertinently. 
"Julia  isn't  here." 

Miss  Minton  compressed  her  lips  and  shook  her  head. 

"  It's  not  that  you  haven't  brains  of  a  kind,  Lorraine," 
she  said,  "  for  you  certainly  have.  If  you  were  really 
stupid,  1  should  pity  you  and  be  kind  and  patient  with 
you,  and  not  attempt  to  force  you  ;  but  as  it  is,  1  don't 
know  what  to  do.  I'm  here  to  teach  you — I'm  paid  to 
teach  you  ;  and  although  it  is  not  my  fault  that  1  teach 
you  nothing,  1  have  conscientious  scruples  about  taking 
money  which  1  do  not  earn. " 

"  Give  Julia  a  double  dose  of  teaching,  then,"  said 
Babs,  "  to  balance  your  scruples." 

"  Lorraine,  1  must  insist  upon  being  respected." 

"  Oh,  1  respect  you  right  enough — your  character,  you 
know,"  Babs  assured  her,  cordially,  "it's  in  your  argu- 
ments I  find  the  flaws." 

Miss  Minton  paused,  frowning  with  perplexity. 

"Julia,"  she  recommenced  at  last,  with  the  precision 
of  suppressed  irritation — "Julia  does  the  highest  honor 
to  my  poor  efforts.  She  will  be  a  credit  to  her  family. 
When  she  comes  out  people  will  be  amazed  at  her  brill- 
iant accomplishments." 

"  When  I  come  out  they'll  be  amazed  at  my  brilliant 
ignorance,"  said  Babs ;  "and  that  will  amuse  them  most 
— it's  not  so  common." 

Miss  Minton  had  a  fine,  earnest,  expressive  face.  She 
was  one  of  the  new  generation  of  teachers,  who  study 
human  nature  and  know  something  of  its  endless  vari- 
ety. She  did  not  attempt  to  apply  the  same  rule  to  Babs 
that  answered  with  her  more  conventional  sister  Julia  ; 
but  she  had  tried,  and  tried  again  in  vain,  to  find  the 
word  that  should  appeal  to  Babs  to  persuade  her. 

"  Lorraine,"  she  began  once  more,  after  another  pause, 

3 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  I  feel  disheartened.  When  you  go  out  into  the  world, 
believe  me,  you  will  look  back  upon  these  wasted  days 
and  bitterly  regret  the  spirit  of  opposition  which  is  mak- 
ing you  decline  to  profit  by  the  great  advantages  that 
God  has  given  you.  I  don't  think  I  am  unkind  to  you,  1 
don't  think  I  am  unsympathetic  ;  but  if  you  have  any 
complaint  to  make  of  me,  if  you  could  be  different  were  / 
different,  tell  me." 

Babs's  sensitive  face  flushed. 

"  Please  don't  speak  to  me  like  that,  Miss  Minton," 
she  exclaimed.  "  I  think  you're  a  brick,  and  1  always 
say  so.  But  that  doesn't  alter  me,  you  know." 

"Don't  say 'brick,' dear." 

"  Well,  pearl,  then.  You're  a  pearl  of  great  price,  Miss 
Minton — worth  your  salary,  every  penny  of  it,  and  all  we 
can  give  you  in  the  way  of  gratitude  besides." 

Miss  Minton  sighed. 

"  Such  ridiculous  exaggeration  fails  of  its  effect,"  she 
said. 

"  No,  but,  Miss  Minton,  1  do  mean  you're  a  good  sort," 
Babs  protested. 

"A  good  sort !"  Miss  Minton  ejaculated.  "  Your 
whole  tone  is  deplorable." 

".  1  know,"  said  Babs. 

"  But  if  you'd  try,  dear,"  Miss  Minton  pleaded. 

*  It  isn't  a  bit  of  use,"  Babs  answered,  cheerfully — "not 
a  bit." 

*  That's  because  you  don't  try." 

"No,  it  isn't ;  it's  because  1  have  tried,  and  I  know. 
The  more  I  pore  over  those  beastly  books — " 

Miss  Minton  tapped  on  the  table  sharply  with  the  ruler. 
Babs  started,  and  raised  her  eyebrows  interrogatively. 

"  What  kind  of  books  ?"  Miss  Minton  demanded. 

"  Those  objectionable  books,"  Babs  reeled  off,  un- 
abashed. "  The  more  I  try  to  master  them,  the  less  1 
learn.  But  when  I  don't  try — when  I  persevere  long 

4 


"IN    HER    HURRY    SHE   TIPPED    UP   THE    TABLE" 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

enough  in  not  trying — then  things  come  to  me — things 
that  I  seem  to  understand  better  than  the  things  that 
have  been  explained  to  me,  if  you  know  what  I  mean." 

"  It  sounds  very  like  nonsense,"  said  Miss  Minton,  dry- 
ly. "  But  at  any  rate,  we  can't  go  on  like  this.  You 
don't  know  a  single  lesson  to-day,  and  here  you  have 
been  sitting  all  the  morning  with  a  book  before  you  and 
your  eyes  on  the  view  from  that  window,  not  making 
the  slightest  attempt  to  learn.  I  cannot  conscien- 
tiously let  you  go  on  like  this.  I  must  tell  your  mam- 
ma." 

Babs's  eyes  had  again  sought  the  distant  prospect 
while  Miss  Minton  was  speaking. 

"  Mamma  be  blowed  1"  she  ejaculated,  dreamily. 

"  Lorraine  !" 

"  Gently  wafted  away,  then,  if  you  like  that  better," 
said  Babs. 

"  Really,  Lorraine,  your  language  is — " 

"  A  sign  of  the  antiquity  of  my  family,"  said  Lorraine, 
casting  her  eyes  about  as  if  she  were  looking  for  some- 
thing. "  Language  always  goes  to  the  bad  in  old  fam- 
ilies. It's  the  new  people  who  are  genteel.  We're  nearer 
to  nature." 

She  rose  as  she  spoke,  and  in  her  hurry  tipped  up  the 
table  with  a  sudden  jerk,  so  that  everything  on  it,  includ- 
ing the  inkstand,  slid  down  into  Miss  Minton's  lap,  made 
a  dash  for  the  door,  and  had  disappeared  before  the  gov- 
erness knew  what  was  happening. 

Miss  Minton  picked  up  the  things  patiently,  and  put 
the  room  tidy,  lingering  over  the  task  because  she  felt 
it  her  duty  to  appear  before  Mrs.  Kingconstance  to  show 
her  ink  -  stained  gown  and  complain  of  Babs ;  and 
Miss  Minton  hated  to  have  to  complain  of  Babs.  Even 
as  she  put  the  room  to  rights  she  began  to  make  excuses 
for  her.  She  thought  the  weather  had  something  to  do 
with  her  perversity,  for  the  wind  was  cold,  the  sky  was 

5 


J 

BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

lowering,  and  the  day  altogether  was  sombre  and  sad — 
a  day  to  make  the  sensitive  shiver. 

But  there  are  some  enviable  beings  who,  during  their 
blissful  span  of  life,  set  atmospheric  pressure  at  naught 
and  never  know  which  way  the  wind  blows.  Mrs.  King- 
constance  was  one  of  these.  If  the  sun  shone,  she  or- 
dered the  carriage  ;  if  the  rain  fell,  she  ordered  a  fire  ; 
but  in  either  case  she  was  quite  content.  No  foolish 
wish  to  alter  the  unalterable  had  ever  disturbed  her.  She 
had  never  tried  to  plumb  hidden  depths  of  heart  and 
soul,  nor  sought  to  see  beneath  the  surface  of  society- 
She  had  no  notion,  in  fact,  that  society  was  anything  but 
surface.  As  the  people  she  met  appeared  to  her,  so  she 
understood  them  to  be.  She  herself  was  one  of  those  of 
whom  it  is  said  that  they  are  always  the  same.  This  is 
meant  for  a  compliment  by  the  unobservant,  who,  hav- 
ing no  wisdom  themselves,  nor  power  to  apply  the  wis- 
dom of  others,  go  unwitting  of  the  word  that  holds  up  to 
us  "  infinite  variety  "  as  the  one  charm  that  is  ageless 
and  deathless. 

Life  was  no  enigma  to  Mrs.  Kingconstance,  for  the 
simple  reason  that  she  was  content  with  such  knowledge 
of  it  as  she  possessed.  Progress  did  not  enter  into  her 
state ;  it  was  stagnant.  She  had  no  vague  longings 
for  she  knew  not  what,  no  vain  regrets.  The  little  world 
of  her  experience  satisfied  her,  and  it  was  natural  that  it 
should,  for  she  found  herself  exactly  wrhere  she  wished  to 
be.  Her  income  was  ample,  and,  being  the  widow  of  a 
large  land-owner  and  mother  of  a  young  inheritor,  for 
whom  it  was  her  congenial  duty  to  keep  up  the  family 
mansion  and  nurse  the  estates,  she  looked  down  upon 
life  from  a  desirable  but  not  too  elevated  position,  and 
that  is  by  far  the  best  place  from  which  to  obtain  a  satis- 
factory view  of  it.  It  is  less  enchanting  to  be  upon  the 
heights  than  to  look  upon  them.  Who  is  so  thrilled  as 
your  snob  of  good  birth  when  royalty  smiles  upon  him  ? 

6 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

Royalty  itself  knows  no  thrill  to  be  compared  to  it.  Sit- 
uated as  Mrs.  Kingconstance  was,  such  glimpses  as  she 
obtained  of  the  most  scandalous  social  intrigues  took  on 
the  interest  of  picturesque  romance,  and  even  horrors  of 
battle,  of  suffering  at  sea,  of  privation,  of  disease,  did.not 
disturb  her,  but,  on  the  contrary,  being  stripped  by  gen- 
tlemanly journalists  of  shrieks  and  groans,  distorted 
features,  scattered  brains,  torn  limbs,  and  bleeding 
wounds,  these  events  merely  appealed  to  her  as  items  of 
interest  sufficiently  exciting  to  be  a  welcome  variety. 
She  could  sip  her  afternoon  tea  complacently  while  read- 
ing accounts  of  horrid  crimes  in  the  best  newspapers. 
Only,  of  course,  she  always  said  the  right  thing  on  such 
subjects,  such  as  "  Dear  !  dear  !"  and  "  How  very  dread- 
ful !" — which  was  natural,  for  who  expects  a  handsome 
woman  of  thirty-eight,  with  health,  wealth,  and  position, 
to  do  more  ? 

It  was  comfort  that  Mrs.  Kingconstance  aimed  at  in 
everything,  and  that  not  only  for  herself,  be  it  said  to  her 
credit,  but  for  everybody  in  her  establishment.  If  the 
comfortable  happened  to  clash  with  the  picturesque,  she 
preferred  the  comfortable.  She  had  substituted  sashes 
with  plate-glass  for  lattice  windows  all  over  the  house, 
because  they  fitted  best.  "  Lattices  are  all  very  well  in 
poetty,"  she  said,  "  but  pretty  words  don't  keep  the  cold 
out."  And  in  order  to  prevent  damp  and  insure  heat  she 
had  caused  the  old,  mellow  red-brick  mansion  to  be  cov- 
ered with  a  great  coat  of  gray  cement.  She  had  no  sen- 
timent about  old  furniture,  either.  She  particularly  dis- 
liked worm-eaten  wood.  Design  was  all  very  well,  but 
she  must  have  everything  made  in  nice  ne\v  wood,  well 
seasoned.  Her  own  sitting-room  was  naturally  charac- 
teristic. Everything  in  it  was  a  luxury.  Inlaid  satin- 
wood,  great  down  cushions,  broad  couches,  deep  easy- 
chairs,  the  sheen  of  silk  and  satin  coverings,  the  har- 
mony of  various  tints  and  tones  of  delicate  color,  the 

7 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

pictures,  the  china,  all  combined  to  produce  an  eminently 
luxurious  effect.  Not  a  note  jarred.  Mrs.  Kingcon- 
stance  simply  called  it  comfort.  But  then  she  had  never 
known  what  it  was  to  be  a  day  without  lovely,  costly 
things  to  refresh  her  mind  and  delight  her  eyes.  Habit 
had  made  them  the  mere  common  necessaries  of  life  to 
her,  and  she  had  no  idea  of  their  value  apart  from  their 
usefulness  and  the  pleasure  they  gave.  About  her  all 
was  redundant,  and  she  herself  threatened  to  be  the 
same. 

There  is  a  touch  of  mimicry  in  nature,  to  which  human 
nature  is  also  liable,  so  that  we  often  see  in  people  some- 
what of  the  quality  that  specially  distinguishes  their  sur- 
roundings. There  is  action  and  reaction  in  this.  Mrs. 
Kingconstance  was  responsible  for  the  luxury  about  her; 
but  the  luxury  about  her  was  in  turn  responsible  for  what 
Mrs.  Kingconstance  was  becoming.  She  was  already 
more  ample  than  a  woman  of  thirty-eight  need  be  in  ac- 
tive life.  Not  that  she  was  fat,  but  fat  was  threatening. 
At  present  she  was  only  just  full-blown  ;  but  she  lolled 
too  much  on  luxurious  cushions,  she  tasted  every  morsel 
of  her  food  too  scrupulously  when  it  was  specially  to  her 
liking — which  it  generally  wras — and  she  cultivated  con- 
tent to  an  extreme  that  was  dangerous.  Thankfulness 
for  her  lot  in  life  distinguished  her.  "My  fate  might 
have  been  otherwise,"  she  would  say  by  way  of  reproof 
to  her  sister-in-law,  Miss  Kingconstance,  who  was  not  at 
all  of  her  disposition ;  but  such  as  it  is,  1  am  thankful 
for  it.  We  ought  to  be  contented  with  our  lot  in  life." 
And  then  she  would  nestle  in  her  easiest  chair,  with  just 
a  glance  at  the  clock,  perhaps.  But  she  never  permitted 
herself  to  wish  that  the  time  might  fly ;  she  prided  her- 
self upon  that.  Not  even  would  she  wish  for  the  most  im- 
portant time  of  the  day  to  come  quicker — the  dinner-time. 

The  interview  with  Miss  Minton  was  over.     It  had  ruf- 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

fled  Mrs.  Kingconstance  considerably  for  the  moment, 
but  by  the  time  she  retired  to  her  own  sitting-room  after 
luncheon  there  was  very  little  of  that  sensation  left.  She 
had  recovered  her  equanimity  by  the  simple  expedient  of 
transferring  her  own  responsibility  to  another  person. 
Miss  Minton  had  declared  that  something  must  be  done 
— that  it  would  not  do  to  let  Babs  have  it  all  her  own  way. 
Mrs.  Kingconstance  agreed,  but  she  never  dreamed  of 
troubling  her  own  head  as  to  what  should  be  done.  She 
sent,  instead,  for  the  vicar  of  the  parish,  and  was  now 
tranquilly  awaiting  his  arrival.  She  had  great  confi- 
dence in  the  Honorable  and  Reverend  Wilfred  Wynd- 
ham  Worringham — more  confidence  in  the  "  Honorable," 
perhaps,  than  in  the  "  Reverend."  Most  of  the  people 
about  there  had.  They  might  forget  that  he  was  a 
"  Reverend  "  by  profession,  but  they  never  forgot  that  he 
was  an  "  Honorable  "  by  courtesy.  That  is  the  kind  of 
thing  to  which  people  attach  importance  seventeen  miles 
from  a  railway  station. 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  was  clever  with  her  fingers.  She 
made  beautiful  real  lace  with  bobbins  on  a  satin  pillow. 
And  now,  while  she  waited,  she  worked.  It  was  delicate 
work,  requiring  much  nicety  of  touch  ;  but  she  moved 
her  white  fingers  among  the  bobbins  rapidly,  and  with 
little  care,  as  it  seemed,  like  one  who  has  acquired  skill 
and  facility  by  long  practice ;  and,  as  she  worked,  the 
gems  in  her  rings  flashed  iridescent  in  the  fire-light,  and 
the  expression  of  her  countenance  varied  from  one  de- 
gree of  amiability  to  another.  The  weather  without  and 
the  warmth  within  combined  to  comfort  her  by  force  of 
contrast.  Bitter  squalls  of  wind  and  rain  beat  upon  the 
windows,  but  the  thick  plate-glass  and  the  well-fitting 
sashes  defied  their  onslaught,  while  the  amber  red  of  the 
fire  glowed  all  the  brighter  for  the  chilly  gray  back- 
ground of  sombre  sky. 

Presently  the  door  began  to  open,  as  if  of  itself,  in  a 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

languid  way.  Mrs.  Kingconstance  happened  to  glance 
towards  it  at  the  moment,  otherwise  she  would  not  have 
known  that  it  was  opening,  so  gently  was  it  done.  There 
was  something  mysterious  in  the  almost  imperceptible 
motion  of  it.  If  spirits  opened  doors  instead  of  passing 
through  them,  they  might  be  expected  to  open  them  so. 
But  Mrs.  Kingconstance  watched  the  movement  undis- 
turbed, her  face  meanwhile  melting  from  mild  expectancy 
into  a  smile  of  greeting  as  a  slender,  elegant  lady  of  no 
certain  age  sauntered  in  with  a  listless  step,  looking 
more,  however,  as  if  she  hated  the  exertion  than  as  if  she 
were  unequal  to  it.  She  shut  the  door  as  she  had  opened 
it — slowly,  slowly. 

"  You  are  late  to-day,  Lorraine,"  Mrs.  Kingconstance 
said.  "  I  hope  you  are  well  ?" 

The  lady  answered,  carelessly  :  "  Indifferent  well,  1 
thank  you.  And  you  ?" 

"  The  same,  thanks,"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  said,  smil- 
ing ;  then  added,  "  A  quaint  old  phrase." 

"  Yes,  and  expressive,"  was  the  reply. 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  went  on  with  her  work.  The  lady 
—her  sister-in-law,  Miss  Kingconstance — sank  slowly 
into  an  easy-chair  by  the  fire,  and  sat  with  her  eyes 
thoughtfully  fixed  on  the  flame. 

"  Indifferent  well,"  she  muttered,  at  last.  "  I  was  just 
thinking.  We  go  about  everything  in  a  half-hearted 
way  ;  and  the  best  we  do  is  but  indifferent  well  done." 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  smiled  vaguely,  her  fingers  mov- 
ing the  while  among  her  bobbins  rhythmically. 

"  So  you  are  not  going  away  for  a  little  change,  after 
all  ?"  she  ventured,  after  a  pause. 

"  No,"  the  other  rejoined  ;  then  she  rose  restlessly  and 
began  to  saunter  about  the  room.  "  What  is  the  use  ?" 
she  asked. 

"  It  might  do  you  good." 

"  As  likely  as  that  I  shall  ever  do  any  good  myself.     If 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

change  could  have  done  me  any  good,  we  have  change 
enough  here — change  of  weather,  change  of  season,  and 
the  great  change  from  the  bare  branch  to  the  green  leaf, 
which  should  enliven  us  all,  but  never  affects  me,  except 
in  so  far  as  it  moves  me  to  observe  that  it  does  not  do  so. 
lam  numb;  I  am  dead;  I  have  ceased  to  care." 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  continued  to  make  lace  tranquil- 
ly. Her  normal  condition  of  content,  due  to  physical 
well-being,  was  not  to  be  disturbed  by  such  a  trifle  as  an- 
other person's  unhappy  state  of  mind. 

There  was  another  pause  after  her  companion  had 
ceased  to  speak,  during  which  Miss  Kingconstance  re- 
turned to  the  fireplace  and  stood  looking  down  into  the 
fire.  Once  or  twice  she  sighed  heavily,  then  she  mut- 
tered, in  a  voice  like  an  inarticulate  sigh, 

"  Dead,  long  dead,  long  dead, 
And  my  heart  is  a  handful  of  dust." 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  looked  at  her  with  a  tentative 
smile. 

"  We  must  have  some  more  coals,  I  think,"  she  said, 
then  waited  a  moment ;  but  as  the  other  lady  did  not 
move,  she  was  obliged  to  put  down  her  work  and  get  up 
and  ring  for  them  herself. 

Miss  Kingconstance  awoke  to  the  fact  of  her  remiss- 
ness. 

"  Pardon  me,"  she  said.     "  I  ought  to  have  rung." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  why  ?"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  rejoined, 
good-naturedly,  as  she  settled  herself  and  her  bobbins 
once  more.  "  It  is  good  for  me  to  get  up.  I  sometimes 
think  I  sit  too  long  at  a  time." 

"  Very  likely,"  was  the  dry  rejoinder  ;  "  but  that  is  no 
excuse  for  me.  I  ought  to  have  rung.  You  were  sitting 
— you  had  your  hands  full ;  1  was  standing,  with  noth- 
ing in  my  hands,  and  near  the  bell.  No  excuse  for 
me.  There  never  was  ;  there  never  is." 

ii 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  I  can't  see  why  you  should  have  rung,  my  dear/' 
Mrs.  Kingconstance  reiterated,  comfortably. 

"  We  should  always  be  on  the  alert  to  do  such  things 
for  each  other.  It  is  just  such  trifles  that  promote  the 
harmony  of  life." 

"  Oh,  quite  so,"  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance  ;  then,  catch- 
ing at  the  word  "  harmony,"  "  Have  you  practised  to- 
day ?"  she  asked.  "  It  would  be  nice  if  you  would  play 
something  now." 

"  No,  I  cannot.  There  is  no  music  in  me.  I  am  all  out 
of  tune." 

"  Ah,  that  is  the  weather,"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  ob- 
served. 

Meanwhile,  outside,  the  wind  blew,  great  drops  of  rain 
pattered  upon  the  window-panes  at  every  gust,  and  the 
bleak  March  day  threatened  to  close  in  rapidly. 

Miss  Kingconstance  had  sunk  once  more  into  the  seat 
beside  the  fire,  and  sat  looking  up  at  the  leaden  sky,  with 
a  face  as  sombre  and  black  as  the  level,  murky,  unbroken 
gray  firmament  above  her. 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  glanced  up  at  the  clock. 

*  Tea-time,"  she  remarked.  "  I  rather  expect  the  vicar, 
and  I  want  to  see  him  particularly." 

"  I  rather  want  to  see  him  myself,  the  Honorable  noo- 
dle." 

"  Ah,  Lorraine,  your  naughty  trick  of  nicknaming  !" 
said  Mrs.  Kingconstance.  "  But  we  mustn't  forget  that 
the  vicar  is  a  gentleman,  and  has  feelings  to  be  hurt.  It 
would  not  do  to  let  him  know  his  nickname,  however 
appropriate." 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Kingconstance  ;  "  you  are  quite  right, 
and  I  hope  you  won't  mention  it  to  him." 

Almost  immediately  afterwards  a  servant  announced 
Mr.  Worringham,  and  the  vicar  entered — an  ascetic,  be- 
nevolent, amiable-looking  old  gentleman,  somewhat  pre- 
cise in  manner,  but  simple  and  kindly  withal. 

12 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

Tea  was  brought  in  at  the  same  time,  and  it  was  hard 
to  say  which  was  the  most  welcome  as  a  diversion  to 
Mrs.  Kingconstance,  she  smiled  so  impartially  on  both. 

Miss  Kingconstance  took  no  notice  of  either,  and,  not- 
ing her  attitude,  the  vicar  lowered  his  voice. 

"  A  bad  day  ?"  he  said,  raising  his  eyebrows  interroga- 
tively. 

"  Threatening,"  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance,  signifi- 
cantly. 

"  What's  threatening  ?"  Miss  Kingconstance  broke  in, 
turning  round  on  them  unexpectedly. 

Both  were  embarrassed  for  a  moment,  then  Mr.  Wor- 
ringham  said, 

"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Lorraine  ?" 

"How  do  I  do?" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  expressively,  then  turned 
again  to  the  fire. 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  flushed. 

"  I  wonder  where  the  children  are  ?"  she  hastily  inter- 
posed. "  I  have  not  heard  them  about  the  whole  after- 
noon. Surely  they  have  not  gone  out  in  the  wet.  You 
didn't  meet  them,  did  you,  Mr.  Worringham  ?" 

Mr.  Worringham  had  not  met  them. 

"  Babs  cares  nothing  for  weather."  Mrs.  Kingconstance 
pursued, "  and  really  it  does  not  seem  to  do  her  any  harm. 
She  is  not  sensitive.  But  she  drags  Julia  and  Monta- 
cute  after  her  wherever  she  goes,  and  it's  no  use  talking 
to  her.  She  grows  more  and  more  unmanageable  every 
day.  Can  you  advise  me,  Mr.  Worringham  ?  The  other 
children  are  as  good  as  gold ;  but  I  can  do  nothing  with 
Babs." 

"  Poor,  dear  Babs  1"  Miss  Kingconstance  murmured, 
softly. 

"  Perhaps,"  Mr.  Worringham  mildly  suggested,  "  you 
are  not  strict  enough  with  Lorraine.  I  mean — er — that, 
in  fact,  when  you  say  she  must  not  do  a  thing,  you 

13 


do  not  always  make  her  obey.  Now  Lorraine  is  clever 
in  her  way  —  she  is  very  clever  in  her  own  way, 
don't  you  know ;  not  book  clever — I  won't  say  that 
— but  vshrewd.  I  will  explain  what  I  mean.  Excuse 
me  for  being  a  little  personal;  but  you  are  too  good- 
natured,  my  dear  lady,  too  amiable,  and — er — in  this 
case  I  might  almost  say  too  indulgent.  It  is  natural,  of 
course,  and  it  is  hard  for  mothers  to  do  violence  to  their 
own  feelings,  even  for  the  sake  of  their  children;  but 
then,  you  see,  dear  lady,  it  is  your  duty." 

"  Of  course  I  am  anxious  to  do  my  duty,"  Mrs.  King- 
constance  rejoined,  sitting  up  with  a  self-denying  air. 
"  But  you  were  going  to  explain  ?" 

1     Mr.  Worringham  searched  about  in  his  mind  for  what 
he  had  intended  to  say. 

"  Told  to  do  a  thing  and  isn't  made  to  do  it,"  Miss  King- 
constance  prompted,  impatiently. 

"  Ah,  yes,  yes,"  he  said.  "  I  was  going  to  explain ;  of 
course,  of  course.  When  you  tell  her  to  do  something, 
you  see,  you  must  be  sure  that  she  does  it.  For  instance, 
you  say  at  breakfast,  or  it  may  happen  that  you  say — I 
do  not,  of  course,  assert  that  this  has  actually  occurred  ; 
but  something  like  it  may  have  occurred,  or  sooner  or 
later  exactly  this  very  thing  will  occur,  don't  you  know. 
It  is  just  as  well  to  be  prepared." 

A  sense  of  edification  began  to  irradiate  the  habitual 
complacency  of  Mrs.  Kingconstance's  comely  counte- 
nance. But  the  good  vicar  had  lost  the  thread  of  his  dis- 
course and  come  to  another  full  stop. 

"  'You  say  at  breakfast,  for  instance/  "  Miss  King- 
constance  prompted  again,  irritably. 

"  Er — yes,  yes,"  said  the  vicar,  catching  the  cue.  "  You 
might  say,  for  instance,  don't  you  know,  '  Nov.7,  Lorraine 
— or  Babs,  if  you  like — you  are  not  to  go  out  this  morn- 
ing.' And  an  hour  afterwards  what  do  yon  do  ?  She 
comes  and  coaxes,  and  you  yield  to  her  coaxing,  and  let 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

her  go — after  saying  that  she  mustn't,  don't,  you  see  ? 
And  that  is  a  want  of — in  fact,  a  want  of  firmness.  That 
is  where  you  mothers  fail.  You  want  more  firmness." 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  set  her  soft  lips,  and  began  to 
rehearse  the  part  of  firm  mother  with  decision.  Miss 
Kingconstance  looked  at  her  and  smiled  derisively. 

15 


CHAPTER     II 

BABS  had  an  idea  in  her  head  that  afternoon. 
There  was  something  she  wanted  to  do,  and 
when  Babs  had  an  idea,  it  was  generally  carried 
out,  for  Babs  was  practical.  Grown-up  people 
generally  dubbed  her  ideas  unlady-like  when  they  came 
to  know  of  them ;  but  Babs  recked  little  of  what  they 
thought,  the  grown-up  people.  "  Mamma  is  herself  and 
I  am  myself,"  she  would  explain,  "  and  we  don't  think 
of  the  same  things.  If  mamma  thought  what  I  think, 
she'd  do  what  I  do.  I  know  she  would ;  but  she  doesn't 
seem  to  know  it  herself.  I  never  bother  my  head  about 
what  she  thinks  and  does — it  isn't  my  business — but 
she's  always  worrying  after  me.  I  wish  she  wouldn't." 
On  that  particular  cold,  wet,  March  afternoon,  Babs  was 
heading  an  expedition.  The  party  consisted  of  herself 
and  her  brother  and  sister,  and  just  at  the  time  that  Mrs. 
Kingconstance  was  wondering  what  had  become  of  the 
children,  Babs  was  leading  them  resolutely,  single  file, 
down  dripping  lanes,  where  the  cart- ruts  were  channelled 
deep  with  running  water,  and  along  narrow  paths  across 
fields  of  the  muddiest.  She  did  not  seem  to  notice  the 
discomfort  of  the  day  herself.  All  weather  was  pretty 
much  the  same  to  Babs,  provided  she  could  evade  the  au- 
thorities and  get  out.  And  now,  although  the  wind  bat- 
tered her,  and  at  every  gust  the  drops  rained  cold  upon 
her  from  the  tall  hedgerows  and  the  branches  of  the  trees, 
she  stepped  out  cheerily,  noting  with  keen  interest  every 
object  by  the  wav,  but  never  losing  sight  of  her  purpose 

16 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

for  an  instant.  The  demeanor  of  the  other  two  was  very 
different.  The  boy,  who  came  last  and  seemed  to  be  the 
youngest  of  the  three,  although  in  reality  the  eldest, 
struggled  along  against  the  wind  with  bent  head,  gazing 
on  the  ground.  His  attitude  suggested  endurance  rather 
than  enjoyment.  He  was  a  fragile-looking  creature, 
with  pale  blue  eyes,  a  white  face,  and  colorless  fair  hair — 
not  made  for  a  life  of  action,  evidently,  yet  holding  his 
own  with  dogged  determination  against  the  difficulties 
and  discomforts  of  the  moment.  Not  so  with  his  sister 
Julia.  She  and  Babs  were  about  the  same  height,  and 
might  have  been  any  age  from  twelve  to  sixteen  ;  but  it 
was  impossible  to  say  which  was  the  elder  of  the  two,  and 
no  sisters  could  have  been  more  unlike  in  appearance. 
Julia  was  dark,  with  black  hair,  clear  brown  skin  and 
bright  color,  and  large,  bold  brown  eyes — eyes  that  met 
all  other  eyes  directly,  and  were  not  to  be  abashed.  She 
walked  stiffly,  with  her  head  held  high,  and  an  expres- 
sion of.  self-esteem  on  her  countenance,  which  was  not 
pleasant  in  so  young  a  girl.  Indeed,  her  whole  manner 
was  self-assertive,  and  she  gathered  her  skirts  up  about 
her  out  of  the  wet  in  a  way  which  suggested  a  more  co- 
quettish regard  for  her  personal  appearance  than  is  usual 
or  desirable  at  her  age.  Her  determined  mouth  might 
have  led  a  casual  observer  to  suppose  that  she  was  the 
one  of  the  three  who  would  take  the  lead  in  everything. 
It  was  not  so,  however.  While  her  brother  and  sister 
were  for  open  tactics,  her  influence  wras  bound  to  be  sec- 
ondary; but  any  chance  for  deflection  would  put  the 
game  into  her  hands. 

Although  Babs  presented  a  complete  contrast  to  her 
sister  in  appearance,  being  fair,  with  fine  golden-yellowT 
hair,  milk-white  skin  just  tinged  with  pink,  and  tender 
blue  eyes,  it  was  the  more  radical  difference  of  character 
which  betrays  itself  in  the  general  demeanor,  in  manner 
and  movement,  rather  than  in  form,  feature,  and  coloring, 
B  17 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

the  different  mode  of  thought  and  habit  of  observation, 
that  made  the  most  striking  part  of  the  dissimilarity.  As 
they  followed  each  other  down  the  narrow  path,  Julia 
turned  her  dark  eyes  vigilantly  from  right  to  left,  and 
picked  her  steps,  being  careful  to  avoid  the  discomfort  of 
getting  wet ;  but  the  dark  eyes  noted  only  unpleasant 
obstacles  to  be  avoided.  She  did  not  see  it  when  the  day 
began  to  clear  and  the  clouds  rolled  away  in  heavy 
masses,  all  tinged  with  burnished  copper  where  the  sun's 
rays  struggled  to  pierce  them.  Neither  did  she  notice 
the  twitter  of  birds  in  the  hedgerows,  nor  the  fresh  odors 
that  arose  from  the  damp  earth,  nor  the  sparkle  of  crys- 
tal drops  on  bare  brown  branches.  It  was  simply  a  nasty, 
wet  afternoon  to  Julia,  and  she  was  very  sorry  she  had 
allowed  herself  to  be  persuaded  to  come  out.  Not  that 
she  had  been  persuaded.  The  other  two  did  not  want 
her  much,  but  she  would  come — which  did  not  prevent 
her  blaming  everybody  but  herself  for  the  discomfort. 

But  Babs  took  no  notice  of  her  sister's  discontent.  She 
carried  a  little  basket  in  her  hand,  and  swung  her  arm  as 
she  walked  along,  in  her  own  careless  way,  with  light, 
elastic  step,  splashing  her  dress  with  mud  and  wetting 
her  boots,  because  everything — the  sky,  the  clouds,  the 
trees,  the  fields,  the  birds,  the  beasts — claimed  her  atten- 
tion, everything  except  the  ground  at  her  feet. 

When  any  word  was  exchanged  between  the  three,  it 
was  generally  Babs  who  broke  the  silence,  and  it  was  her 
brother  she  addressed  as  a  rule,  being  sure  of  his  sym- 
pathy. Julia  was  much  too  busy  taking  care  of  herself 
to  notice  what  the  other  two  said,  but  once  or  twice  she 
asked  tartly  how  much  farther  they  had  to  go,  and  carped 
at  the  invariable  answer  :  "  We  shall  be  there  directly." 

They  had  not  met  a  soul  since  they  came  out  until,  in 
a  winding  lane  flanked  by  high  hedges,  they  came  upon 
a  little  lady  with  flaxen  ringlets  mincing  along,  holding 
up  her  dress  with  a  finger  and  thumb  on  either  side,  and 

18 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

pointing  her  toes  to  pick  her  steps,  as  if  she  were  gliding 
through  the  figures  of  a  minuet. 

"  Here's  Twitters/'  Julia  remarked ;  then,  with  that 
rather  loud  affectation  of  bluntness  which  passes  with 
some  people  for  kindly  condescension,  she  called  to  her : 

"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Spice  ?" 

Miss  Spice  minuetted  up  to  them  with  little  noddings 
and  gesticulations,  shaking  her  ringlets  back  and  gig- 
gling youthfully. 

"  Oh,  my  dears,  what  a  day  !  Well,  I'm  sure  !  What 
has  brought  you  all  out  ?  Excuse  shaking  hands  ;  I 
daren't  let  go  my  dress." 

"  What  brought  you  out,  Miss  Spice  ?"  said  Babs. 

"  Oh,  my  dears  !  Aunt  Sophia,  you  know."  She 
dropped  her  voice  mysteriously,  and  bespoke  secrecy 
with  sundry  nods  and  winks.  "  A  little  something  for 
tea,  you  know,  to  tempt  her.  Must  fetch  it.  And  how 
is  your  dear  mamma  ?" 

"  Oh,  she's  all  right,"  said  Babs. 

"  And  your  poor  dear  Aunt  Lorraine  ?" 

"  There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  Aunt  Lorraine, 
Miss  Spice,"  Julia  rejoined,  bridling. 

"  Oh,  my  dear ;  no,  of  course  not,"  Miss  Spice  has- 
tened to  agree,  apologetically.  "  I  am  glad  she  is  quite 
well,  as  usual.  I  must  hurry  off.  Aunt's  tea.  Good- 
bye !  Good-bye,  dears  !" 

She  picked  up  her  dress  on  either  side,  made  them  a 
little  courtesy,  and  minuetted  off,  pointing  her  toes  to 
cross  the  mud-puddles  elegantly,  her  flaxen  ringlets  curl- 
ing and  uncurling  at  every  step  like  animated  main- 
springs. 

"  Well,  I  do  call  that  impertinence  I"  Julia  exclaimed, 
hardly  waiting  for  Miss  Spice  to  be  out  of  hearing. 
"  '  Poor  dear  Aunt  Lorraine,'  indeed  !  As  if  a  fool  in 
our  family  were  not  of  more  consequence  than  a  hero 
in  hers." 

19 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  There  you  are  !"  said  Babs.  "  That's  the  inhuman- 
ity of  the  county  again.  County  people  are  all  for  them- 
selves." 

"  If  you  don't  mind,  Babs,  you'll  end  by  being  a  Radi- 
cal/' her  brother  said,  impressively. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind,"  Babs  answered,  carelessly.  "Aunt 
Lorraine  calls  the  county  inhuman,  and  Aunt  Lorraine 
is  not  such  a  fool  as  some  people  suppose." 

"  She's  just  cracky,"  said  Montacute. 

"  She  may  be  that,  but  she's  not  a  fool,"  Babs  obsti- 
nately asseverated. 

"  Then  why  did  she  let  the  burglars  out  ?"  Julia  de- 
manded. 

"  I  expect  she  did  it  for  fun,"  Babs  answered,  discon- 
certed, but  not  to  be  driven  from  her  loyal  defence. 

They  were  climbing  down  a  steep,  narrow,  rugged  path 
between  two  coverts,  and  came  in  sight  of  a  shallow,  un- 
pleasant-looking pond,  in  which  the  path  apparently 
ended.  The  heavy  rain  had  swollen  the  ditches,  and  all 
the  low-lying  ground  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  was  under 
water. 

"  Oh,  Cute,  look  !"  said  Babs.     "  What  shall  we  do  ?" 

She  ran  down  to  the  water's  edge  as  she  spoke.  On  the 
other  side  of  the  pond  a  hillock  rose  abruptly  out  of  the 
water.  It  was  crowned  by  a  young  plantation,  and  its 
deep  green  sides  were  a  mass  of  white  and  purple  violets, 
the  perfume  from  which  reached  the  young  people  where 
they  stood. 

Babs  stamped. 

"  Mamma  must  have  them/'  she  said,  with  decision ; 
but  she  was  baffled. 

"  So  this  is  your  fine  mystery  ?"  Julia  exclaimed, 
crossly.  "  I  don't  see  why  you  wouldn't  tell  me." 

"  We  meant  to  surprise  mamma  with  them/'  said  Mon- 
tacute. 

"  What  has  that  to  do  with  it  ?" 

20 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Our  surprises  don't  come  off,  somehow,  when  you 
know  about  them  beforehand." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  accuse  me  of  telling  ?" 

"  You  generally  tell,"  said  Babs,  still  intent  upon  the 
violets. 

"  So  I  should,"  said  Julia,  shifting  her  ground.  "  It's 
sly  and  deceitful  to  hide  things  from  mamma." 

"  What  kind  of  things  ?"  Montacute  asked,  politely. 

"  Any  kind,"  Julia  snapped. 

"  Well,  you  are  silly,"  he  rejoined. 

"  Why  am  I  silly  ?"  she  demanded. 

"  Because  if  your  argument  makes  it  deceitful  for  us 
to  prepare  surprises  for  mamma,  it  must  make  it  deceit- 
ful for  mamma  to  prepare  surprises  for  us.  Your  logic 
won't  hold  water." 

"  What  do  you  know  about  logic  ?"  Julia  jeered. 

"  Not  much,  if  my  acquirements  are  to  be  measured  by 
yours,"  said  Montacute. 

"  I  must  do  it,"  Babs  broke  in. 

The  other  two  suspended  hostilities. 

"  Do  what  ?"  they  demanded,  speaking  together. 

"Go  across." 

"  That  dirty  water  !"  Julia  cried,  with  disgust. 

"  If  anybody  goes  across,  it  shall  be  me,"  said  the  boy. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Babs,  decisively. 

"  I  can't  let  you  girls  do  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know," 
he  persisted. 

"  Many  boys  make  their  sisters  do  that  sort  of  thing," 
Babs  said,  tactfully. 

"  But  I  am  a  gentleman,"  said  the  lad. 

"  I  know,"  said  Babs.  "  You  needn't  risk  a  cold  to 
prove  it." 

"  Nonsense  about  cold,"  he  said,  and  began  to  take  off 
his  boots. 

Both  girls  caught  hold  of  him. 

"  You're  not  going  in,"  they  objected. 
21 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Let  go  !"  he  cried,  trying  vainly  to  shake  them  off. 

"  Not  till  you  promise  you  won't,"  said  Babs. 

"  Do  promise,"  said  Julia,  maliciously.  "  It  does  look 
so  absurd  to  see  a  boy  being  held  by  two  girls." 

Babs  instantly  dropped  his  arm  and  gave  her  sister 
a  meaning  look,  which  Julia  met  derisively.  The  boy 
stood  still,  deeply  hurt.  He  was  sensitive  on  the  subject 
of  his  delicacy. 

"  He  could  shake  us  off  easily  enough  if  he  chose,"  said 
Babs,  abasing  herself  to  pour  balm  on  the  wound  ;  "  but 
he's  too  much  of  a  gentleman  to  be  rough  with  girls. 
You'll  let  rne  go  in,  Cute,  won't  you  ?  I've  set  my  heart 
on  getting  the  flowers  myself." 

The  boy  turned  without  a  word  and  began  to  walk 
back  slowly  up  the  steep  path  by  which  they  had  just 
descended,  his  interest  in  everything  suddenly  extin- 
guished. His  delicate  health  and  stunted  growth  were 
a  grief  to  him. 

Babs  looked  sorrowfully  after  him  as  he  went,  then 
turned  to  her  sister. 

"  I'd  say  you  were  a  beast,  Julia,  if  the  comparison 
were  not  an  insult  to  honest  animals." 

"  You  are  noted  for  your  refinement,"  Julia  retorted. 

Babs  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  peered  down  into 
the  loathsome-looking  water.  There  might  be  horse- 
leeches in  it,  and  there  were  certainly  horrid  little  animals 
that  turned  up  their  tails  like  scorpions,  and  Babs  had  a 
fastidious  gentlewomanly  shrinking  from  crawling  creat- 
ures ;  but  even  while  she  hesitated  she  was  tucking  up 
her  skirts  and  preparing  to  plunge  in.  She  did  not  go 
through  the  form  of  removing  her  already  wet  shoes  and 
stockings. 

Julia  sat  on  a  stone  and  watched  her,  all  her  interest 
centred  on  the  anticipation  of  mishaps.  Once  Babs 
slipped  on  a  stone  and  came  down ;  but  she  held 
her  countenance  calmly  impassive,  even  when  the  ice- 

22 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

cold  muddy  water  came  up  to  her  chin,  because  Julia 
laughed. 

When  the  violets  were  gathered  she  returned  to  the 
bank  and  began  to  arrange  them. 

"Do  be  quick!"  said  Julia.  "We  shall  never  get 
home." 

"  What's  keeping  you  ?"  said  Babs. 

*  I  don't  wi.sh  to  go  alone." 

"  Well,  I've  just  done  ;  but  I  should  be  quicker  if  you'd 
help  me." 

"  I  can't  do  that.     I  should  dirty  my  hands." 

"  What  harm  would  that  do  you  ?" 

"  It  spoils  one's  hands  so,  washing  them  often." 

"  Oh,  Julia,  my  dear  !"  Babs  exclaimed,  "  you'll  cer- 
tainly end  by  inventing  a  glass  case  in  which  to  keep 
yourself,  that  the  dust  may  not  light  upon  you.  Talk 
about  Aunt  Lorraine  !  When  you're  an  old  woman — " 

But  Babs  never  finished  the  phrase,  for  Julia  jumped 
up,  snatched  the  basket  of  violets  from  the  ground,  and 
tore  off  up  the  hill  with  it. 

Babs  made  a  move  to  follow  her,  then  stood  still. 

"  I  could  easily  overtake  you,  my  dear,"  she  said  to 
herself ;  "  but  what  does  it  matter  ?  Let  our  accounts 
accumulate.  We'll  settle  them  all  together — when  it's 
worth  while." 

She  yawned  as  she  spoke,  and  began  to  climb  the  hill- 
path  slowly,  much  hampered  by  her  clinging  wet  clothes. 

23 


M 


CHAPTER     III 

ISS  SPICE  had  gone  on,  with  her  warm  little 
heart  full  of  kind  consideration  for  Aunt  So- 
phia's tea.  The  village  shop  was  her  goal,  and 
something  tasty  and  tinned  her  object.  At  the 
same  time  her  little  head  was  busy  with  a  romance  she 
had  just  been  reading,  in  the  costume  of  the  Charles's, 
when  the  court  was  in  curls  and  dames  were  stately. 
Miss  Spice,  holding  up  her  skirts  on  either  side  writh  a 
finger  and  thumb,  minuetted  round  a  puddle  here  or 
pointed  a  toe  across  a  fairy  obstacle  there,  playing  a 
part  as  she  proceeded  in  the  procession  of  gallant  gen- 
tlemen and  lovely  ladies  who  were  passing  in  groups 
across  her  consciousness,  and  making  of  herself  the 
quaintest  little  figure  it  is  possible  to  imagine  as  still 
lingering  at  this  time  of  day,  even  in  a  country  district 
several  decades  behind  the  times. 

Miss  Spice  had  been  in  London  once — just  once — for  a 
blissful  week.  She  had  knelt  in  St.  Paul's  and  West- 
minster Abbey  and  felt  religious;  had  gazed  at  the 
Houses  of  Parliament  and  felt  the  importance  of  official- 
dom ;  had  gone  to  the  Tower  and  felt  for  kings  and 
queens,  and  to  Madame  Tussaud's  and  felt  history — 
combined  with  horror  of  the  French  Revolution  and  a 
wicked  interest  in  the  dissolute  society  of  courts ;  she 
had  heard  some  singers  at  a  Cry.stal  Palace  concert,  and 
herself  had  sung  quite  in  the  professional  manner  ever 
.since  ;  and  she  had  attended  Church  parade  in  the  Park 
on  Sunday  morning,  and  felt  with  a  thrill  what  it  is  to 

24 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

be  fashionable  and  worldly.  "  When  I  was  in  London  " 
was  the  happy  epoch  from  which  Miss  Spice  dated  all  her 
experiences  of  life. 

Miss  Spice's  fluffy,  fair  flaxen  hair  curled  all  over  her 
head  and  flowed  a  little  way  down  her  back,  just  as  it  had 
done  when  she  was  sixteen.  She  had  never  thought  of 
arranging  her  tresses  in  any  other  way.  Probably,  had 
she  done  so,  remarks  would  have  been  made.  That  is 
the  kind  of  thing  that  happens  seventeen  miles  from 
a  railway  station.  People  object  to  new-fangled  notions 
in  such  localities.  Change  is  to  them  a  stranger  at 
whom  they  are  ever  ready  to  heave  the  half-brick.  Miss 
Spice  had  a  pretty  little  pink  and  white  face,  with  a 
pointed  chin,  and  a  complexion  so  delicate  that  you  had 
to  look  close  in  order  to  discover  the  lines  which  told  tales 
about  Miss  Spice's.age.  For  years  had  elapsed,  alas  1 
since  the  golden  spring  "  when  I  was  in  London." 

Miss  Spice  was  treading  a  measure,  accompanied  by 
the  sweet  music  of  her  own  little  voice,  managed  quite  in 
the  professional  manner,  when  on  a  sudden  in  the  dis- 
tance she  perceived  a  stranger  approaching — a  tall,  not  to 
say  ponderous,  gentleman  in  a  black  frock-coat,  obtru- 
sively white  linen,  and  a  silk  hat — a  costume  only  seen  on 
Sundays,  in  the  company  of  the  best  people,  when  stran- 
gers from  London  visited  that  remote  region.  As  they 
nearedeach  other,  Miss  Spice  became  aware  of  something 
unusually  magnificent  about  this  stranger,  something  ex- 
traordinarily important  even  in  the  flap  of  his  coat-tails 
as  they  waggled  from  side  to  side,  and  when  she  came 
abreast  of  him  Miss  Spice  involuntarily  dropped  him  a 
courtesy.  She  had  once  before  in  her  life  involuntarily 
dropped  such  a  courtesy  to  a  gentleman,  a  royal  duke,  who 
had  passed  her  at  a  considerable  distance  one  day  when 
she  was  in  London.  Being  unaware  of  the  compliment, 
the  royal  duke  had  not  acknowledged  it ;  but  this  stran- 
ger instantly  doffed  his  hat  and  bowed  profoundly.  In 

25 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

her  day-dreams  Miss  Spice  was  accustomed  to  meet  the 
most  lordly  knights,  who  always  saluted  her,  and  she 
was  not  embarrassed ;  and,  until  the  stranger  bowed,  he 
was  a  being  of  that  order.  The  moment  afterwards, 
however,  all  was  altered,  and  Miss  Spice  was  in  such  a 
nutter  that  she  hurried  on  incontinently.  Her  imagina- 
tion also  hurried  on.  If  only  it  had  been  a  fine  day  !  If 
only  there  had  been  flowers  in  the  hedgerows  she  might 
have  culled  one  !  If  only  she  could  sprain  her  ankle,  do 
something — anything — to  attract  his  attention,  excite 
his  interest,  and  claim  his  assistance ! 

Little  Miss  Spice  looked  round,  and  just  at  that  mo- 
ment the  stranger  also  turned — turned  back — and  his 
hat  was  again  in  his  hand.  Miss  Spice  awaited  his  com- 
ing of  necessity,  for  she  was  paralyzed.  The  stranger's 
step  was  leisurely,  as  became  the  dignitj''  of  his  portly 
presence ;  it  seemed  to  Miss  Spice  an  age  till  he  reached 
her.  She  wratched  his  coming  like  a  fascinated  bird ; 
but  Miss  Spice  was  a  happy  little  bird.  The  dream  of 
her  life  was  about  to  be  accomplished. 

"  Er — pardon  me,  madam,"  were  the  very  first  words 
the  distinguished-looking  stranger  said  to  Miss  Spice; 
and  she  never  forgot  that  "  Certainly  "  was  all  she  an- 
swered. 

"  Perhaps,  madam,"  said  the  distinguished-looking 
stranger — and  each  word  took  on  a  special  importance 
from  the  impressive  way  in  which  he  pronounced  it — 
"  perhaps,  madam,  you  can  tell  me,  is  this  the  way  to 
the  village  of  Danehurst  ?"  and  he  made  a  grand  gesture 
which  included  the  whole  landscape  behind  him. 

"  No,  sir/'  said  Miss  Spice,  rising  to  the  occasion  ; 
"  this  is  the  way  to  the  village  of  Danehurst,"  and  she 
gracefully  waved  her  little  hand  in  the  opposite  direction. 
"  I  am  going  there  myself ,"  she  continued,  extending  her 
skirts  to  a  courtesy,  "  and  I  will  show  you  the  way  if 
you  like." 

26 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you,"  said  the  stranger,  and  again 
he  raised  his  hat  and  bowed  politely.  "  You  are  not  a 
native  of  these  parts,  I  feel  sure,"  was  his  next  remark 
as  they  walked  on  together. 

Miss  Spice  perked  as  at  a  compliment.  She  was  bob- 
bing along  with  the  portly  stranger  like  a  tiny  boat  be- 
side a  man-of-war. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  am,"  she  twittered ;  "  very  much  a  native 
of  these  parts." 

"Ah,  then  you  have  travelled,"  he  observed.  "  I  feel 
sure  you  have  travelled." 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?"  said  Miss  Spice,  much 
pleased. 

"  Well — er — it  is  hard  to  define,  if  I  may  say  so.  A 
something — a  nuance,  my  dear  young  lady,  and  voila 
tout !" 

"  Oh  yes,  to  be  sure,"  said  Miss  Spice. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  everybody  in  the  neighbor- 
hood ?"  the  stranger  proceeded. 

"  Well,  pretty  nearly,"  Miss  Spice  acknowledged,  mod- 
estly. "  It  is  a  little  place,  you  know,  seventeen  miles 
from  a  railway  station." 

"  I  know,"  he  replied.  "  The  great  charm  of  the  place 
to  me  consists  in  the  fact  that  it  is  seventeen  miles  from 
a  railway  station.  In  such  places  the  homely  virtues 
nourish  and  people  are  thrown  upon  each  other  for  so- 
ciety. That  is  why  I  am  here.  But  doubtless  you  had 
heard  of  my  arrival  ?" 

"  No/'  gasped  Miss  Spice,  breathlessly.  "  Have  you 
come  to  stay  ?" 

"  Yes  " — he  paused — "  if  I  can  find  a  suitable  resi- 
dence." 

"  Oh  I"  said  Miss  Spice. 

"  Yes  " — he  paused  again,  then  added,  impressively, 
"  My  name  is  Tinney." 

Miss  Spice's  heart  contracted — "  Tinney  1" 

27 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Capel  Augustus  Jellybond  Tinney,"  the  stranger 
proceeded,  and  as  he  unrolled  the  syllables  Miss  Spice's 
heart  expanded  again.  "  Jellybond  Tinney,"  the  stran- 
ger repeated. 

"  Hyphened  ?"  Miss  Spice  ventured,  in  some  excitement. 
A  hyphened  name  she  conceived  to  be  highly  aristocratic. 

"  Er — oh  no,  quite  simple,"  said  the  stranger,  and  Miss 
Spice  knew  by  the  way  in  which  he  said  it  that  this  was 
a  credit  to  him.  "  Jellybond  was  my  mother's  name. 
Tinney  my  father's.  My  mother  brought  the  blood  ; 
birth  and  beauty  were  hers.  My  father — well,  I  always 
say  of  my  father  he  was  Tinney  by  name  and  Tinney  by 
— er — banking  account." 

Miss  Spice  uttered  a  little  exclamation,  so  surprising 
to  her  was  this  conclusion. 

He  looked  at  her  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eyes,  and 
smiled  complacently. 

"  I  always  put  the  saying  so,"  he  explained.  "  It  has, 
you  see,  in  that  form  the  charm  of  the  unexpected.  You 
should  always  avoid  the  obvious." 

"  Should  I  r   said  Miss  Spice. 

"  We  should,"  he  corrected. 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  said  Miss  Spice. 

Then  there  was  another  pause. 

"  I  am  not  always  called  Tinney,  however/'  the  stran- 
ger recommenced.  "  I  am  known  elsewhere  by  another 
designation — " 

"A  title  ?"  Miss  Spice  gasped. 

"  Well,  er — really — you  quite  embarrass  me."  His 
smile  spoke  volumes.  "  But  I  cannot  explain — "  He 
broke  off.  "  Suffice  it  for  you  and  me  that  for  the  pres- 
ent I  prefer  to  be  called  plain  '  Mister  ' — '  Mister  Jelly- 
bond.  '  For  convenience  I  sometimes  drop  the '  Tinney. ' " 

" Noble,  sir, I'm  sure,"  Miss  Spice  exclaimed, not  in  the 
least  knowing  what  she  meant ;  and  she  ever  afterwards 
averred  that  the  words  were  forced  from  her. 

28 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

The  distinguished-looking  stranger  pressed  his  hand 
out  flat  over  his  heart,  and  focussed  his  eyes  afar  off. 
Then  he  sighed  and  muttered  "  Strange  !" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  ?"  said  Miss  Spice. 

"  I  was  just  thinking/'  he  rejoined,  with  another  deep 
.sigh.  "  I  was  wondering.  Is  it  not  singular  that  I 
should  be  talking  to  you  thus  ? — confiding  in  you  ?  How 
wonderful  is  the  law  of  affinity  !  Half  an  hour  ago  we 
had  not  met,  and  now  you  know  my  secret." 

"  Sir/'  said  Miss  Spice, "  your  secret  is  safe  in  my  keep- 
ing." 

"  Safe  indeed !"  he  ejaculated. 

After  they  had  walked  on  together  in  silence  for  a  lit- 
tle, he  remarked : 

"  I  am  staying  at  present  at  the  village  inn — in  some 
discomfort.  Do  you  happen  to  know  of  a  house  to  be  let 
in  the  neighborhood,  if  I  may  ask? — a  suitable  resi- 
dence ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  do,"  said  Miss  Spice — "  at  least  I  don't 
know — I  mean  I  know  of  a  house,  but  whether  it  would 
be  suitable  or  not — " 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,  of  course,  I  must  myself  decide,"  the 
stranger  concluded,  genially.  "  Where  is  the  house,  and 
to  whom  may  it  belong  ?  Is  it  to  be  let  or  sold  ?" 

"  This  house  is  called  a  '  cottage ' — the  '  Swiss  Cot- 
tage ' — although  it  is  quite  a  fine  residence,"  Miss  Spice 
responded  with  a  readiness  that  surprised  her.  "  It  is 
hidden  among  the  fir-trees  on  the  hill-side  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  village — the  farther  end  from  my  end.  My — 
er — house  is  the  Cross  Roads  Cottage.  All  the  houses 
here  that  are  not  halls,  courts,  or  castles,  are  cottages. 
We  have  no  villas." 

"'Oh,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Jellybond.  "  Now  that  is  sig- 
nificant." 

*  Yes,"  said  Miss  Spice,  much  puzzled,  for  she  could 
not  conceive  what  was  signified. 

29 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"And  this  Swiss  Cottage  belongs  to  whom  ?"  said  Mr. 
Jellybond. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  forgot,"  Miss  Spice  hastened  to  add.  "  It  be- 
belongs  to  Squire  Normanton,  of  Normanton  Hall,  and  is 
to  be  let  or  sold." 

Mr  Jellybond's  face  was  impassive. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  said,  "  you  know  this  Squire  Norman- 
ton?" 

"  Well,,  yes,"  Miss  Spice  replied,  with  some  little  hesi- 
tation ;  "  yes,  I  do,"  she  added,  firmly,  as  if  she  had  just 
made  up  her  mind. 

"I  asked,"  said  the  stranger, "  because  I  should  want  an 
introduction  ;  an  introduction  simplifies  things  so  much 
— don't  you  think  so?  Not  a  formal  introduction, you 
know,  just  a  card,  and  written  on  it  in  your  own  hand — 
of  course  it  must  be  in  your  own  hand — '  To  introduce 
Mr.  Jellybond.'  But  I  hardly  like  to  trouble  you." 

"  No  trouble,  I'm  sure,"  said  Miss  Spice  in  great  con- 
fusion. "  But—" 

She  had  never  been  asked  to  do  such  a  thing  before, 
and  she  had  no  visiting-cards. 

Mr.  Jellybond  interrupted  with  a  dignified  gesture. 

"  I  should,  of  course,  myself  explain  the  extent  of  our 
acquaintance,"  he  said,  "  when  the  ice  is  broken.  If  you 
would  be  so  sweet  as  to  break  the  ice  1" 

"  Oh,  certainly  —  of  course,"  twittered  Miss  Spice. 
"  But  I  was  going  to  say — not  the  squire.  He  " — she 
tittered  a  little  and  blushed — "  he  never  seems  to  see  that 
I  have  grown  up.  He  treats  me  like  a  little  girl.  I  would 
rather,  if  you  don't  mind,  the  vicar,  Mr.  Worringham — 
the  Honorable.  If  you  knew  him  he  would  introduce 
evervbody." 

"Ah,  thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Jellybond.  "  But  first  in 
the  village  I  will  pay  my  respects  to  yourself,  dear  lady, 
at — er — the  Cross  Roads  Cottage,  if  I  may.  Shall  we 
say  to-morrow  morning  ?" 

3° 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Delighted  !"  was  all  Miss  Spice  could  articulate. 

"  I  shall  look  forward  to  it,"  Mr.  Jellybond  said,  im- 
pressively. "  I  shall  look  forward  to  discussing  many 
things  with  you,  including  the  Swiss  Cottage,  and — er — 
an  introduction.  What  a  sweet  spot  this  is  !  I  can 
scarcely  believe  that  I  have  at  last  reached  such  a  peace- 
ful haven,  after  all  I  have  gone  through ;  but  it  is  a  long 
lane,  my  dear  young  lady,  that — er — keeps  on  turning." 

But  they  were  just  entering  the  village,  and  on  a  sud- 
den Miss  Spice  found  herself  all  in  a  twitter  of  embarrass- 
ment because  she  did  not  know  how  she  was  to  do  such  a 
common  thing  as  to  get  herself  into  "  the  shop  "  before 
the  distinguished-looking  stranger.  If  only  the  church 
had  been  open  she  would  have  entered  and  breathed  a 
prayer  ;  but  the  church  never  was  open  except  for  regu- 
lar services.  It  was  most  provoking.  Miss  Spice  cast 
about  in  her  mind  for  something  else  of  an  elevated  nat- 
ure that  she  might  mention  as  an  excuse.  A  visit  to  a 
sick  person  would  have  done  admirably,  but,  alas  !  there 
was  no  sick  person  in  the  village  that  she  knew  of — and 
here  they  were  close  to  "  the  shop." 

"  This  is  the  village  of  Danehurst,  sir,"  she  exclaimed, 
desperately. 

"  Yes,"  he  said ;  "  now  I  know  where  I  am."  He  sur- 
veyed the  place.  "A  delicious  spot !"  was  his  verdict. 
"And  this  is  the  principal  emporium,  I  suppose  ?"  he  add- 
ed, indicating  "  the  shop  "  in  his  grand  way.  "  Do  you 
do  your  shopping  here  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Spice,  and  again  it  seemed  to  her  that 
the  words  were  forced  from  her,  so  that  she  assured  her- 
self it  was  fate.  "  That  reminds  me ;  I  have  an  order 
to  give." 

"Ah  !  Eve  on  household  cares  intent,"  said  Mr.  Jelly- 
bond.  "  Well,  good-bye,  my  dear  young  lady,  and  many 
thanks  for  your  kind  guidance.  We  shall  meet  again 
if  all  goes  well — if  not  here,  then  in  the  far  beyond." 

31 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

He  raised  his.  hat  high,  and  passed  on  up  the  street, 
and  again  Miss  Spice  observed  the  way  his  coat-tails 
waggled — so  expressively — you  could  see  at  a  glance  he 
was  somebody.  She  cast  but  one  long,  yearning  look 
after  him,  and  then  she  minuetted  into  "the  shop,"  and 
would  have  sunk  down  into  a  chair,  only  that  the 
chairs  were  so  high  she  had  rather  to  rise  than  to  sink 
in  order  to  reach  the  seat.  Having  done  so,  she  sat 
with  her  feet  dangling  at  some  little  distance  from  the 
floor,  and  tried  to  collect  her  thoughts ;  but  so  over- 
come was  she  with  consciousness  of  the  occasion,  of 
fate — of  everything — that  when  the  shopman  came  to 
serve  her  she  could  hardly  articulate, "  Two  fresh  eggs, 
if  you  please,  and  a  slice  of  ham." 

32 


jvr 


CHAPTER    IV 

[TSS  KINGCONSTANCE  left  her  sister-in-law 
alone  with  Mr.  Worringham,  and  sauntered  up 
to  her  own  room.  The  weather  was  clearing ; 
she  thought  she  would  dress  and  go  out.  She 
put  her  hand  on  the  bell  to  ring  for  her  maid,  then 
changed  her  mind.  Why  disturb  the  woman?  Why 
did  she  keep  a  maid  at  all  ?  It  would  be  much  better 
for  her  to  do  everything  for  herself. 

She  began  to  pull  things  out  of  her  wardrobe.  A 
cloak  ?  No,  she  hated  cloaks.  The  cloak  was  tossed 
aside.  A  blue  ulster?  That  was  dowdy,  and  why 
should  she  be  dowdy  ?  The  ulster  followed  the  cloak. 
A  buff  jacket?  That  was  not  so  bad.  She  put  it  on, 
tied  some  white  tulle  round  her  neck,  and  completed  the 
costume  with  new  gloves  and  a  Paris  hat.  Then  she 
looked  at  herself  in  a  mirror  critically.  She  was  cer- 
tain! y  very  well  dressed,  but  she  was  not  satisfied. 

"  Could  anything  be  more  ridiculous  ?"  she  said  to  her- 
self, contemptuously,  holding  up  her  skirt  so  as  to  dis- 
play her  silk  petticoat  and  French  boots.  "  Could  any- 
thing be  more  ridiculous  than  such  a  costume  for  these 
country  roads  ?" 

She  went  to  the  window,  opened  it,  and  looked  out. 
Everything  smelled  fresh  and  sweet  after  the  rain,  and 
the  air  was  reviving,  but  the  prospect  did  not  enliven 
her.  Below  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  but  the  drive, 
and  a  monotonous,  park-like  expanse  of  green  grass, 
garnished  with  great  bare  trees ;  while,  above,  the  sombre 
c  33 


B  A  B  S       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

masses  of  heavy  gray  clouds,  luridly  tinged  at  the  edges 
with  flecks  of  flame-color  from  the  sunset,  oppressed  her, 
like  things  of  ominous  import. 

Where  should  she  go  ?  Walking  for  walking's  sake 
is  poor  amusement ;  it  is  as  insipid  as  eating  without 
appetite.  Should  she  go  and  see  some  one  ? — Fanny 
Sturdy,  Florence  Japp,  Ally  Spice,  Mrs.  Normanton, 
Lady  May  ?  No,  thank  you.  Bores,  all ;  not  one  of 
them  could  take  her  out  of  herself.  There  was  no  one 
she  cared  to  see,  nowhere  she  wanted  to  go,  and  she  had 
nothing  to  do. 

She  took  a  few  irresolute  steps  about  the  room,  then 
rang  the  bell  imperatively.  Her  maid  came  hurrying  up. 

"  Order  the  horses,"  she  said,  "  and  then  come  and  help 
me  into  my  habit.  It's  just  the  day  for  a  ride." 

When  she  went  down  -  stairs,  an  obsequious  servant 
opened  the  hall  door  for  her.  The  horses  were  waiting. 
She  stood  a  moment  on  the  steps,  looking  about  her, 
then  mounted,  and  cantered  down  the  drive,  followed  by 
her  groom.  The  old  trees  showered  drops  upon  her,  the 
fresh  air  fanned  her  face,  her  horse  stepped  gayly ;  but 
she  herself  remained  unexhilarated,  her  face  colorless 
and  impassive,  her  whole  attitude  that  of  one  engaged 
in  an  uncongenial  pursuit.  The  purposelessness  of  the 
ride  affected  her,  as  the  purposelessness  of  the  contem- 
plated walk  had  done ;  and  it  was  not  long  before  she 
turned  her  horse  round  with  an  irritable  jerk  and  can- 
tered home. 

"  I  cannot  stand  the  damp,"  she  said  to  her  groom,  as 
he  helped  her  to  dismount,  feeling  that  she  must  excuse 
her  sudden  change  of  mind. 

The  same  servant  opened  the  door  for  her,  and  as  she 
passed  in  she  had  an  uncomfortable  impression  that  he 
exchanged  meaning  glances  with  another  footman  who 
was  loitering  in  the  hall.  Doubtless  they  had  noticed  her 
indecision  and  thought  it  irrational.  She  stopped, 

34 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

seized  with  an  undignified  desire  to  account  to  them  also 
for  her  changeableness ;  but  she  restrained  herself. 
Before  she  reached  her  room,  however,  her  morbid  self- 
consciousness  was  again  tormenting  her — this  time  with 
the  dread  of  being  discussed;  and  she  looked  into  the 
hall  from  the  gallery,  expecting  to  see  the  servants  talk- 
ing together.  But  one  of  them  had  disappeared  and  the 
other  was  tranquilly  reading  a  newspaper. 

As  her  maid  helped  her  to  change  her  habit,  Miss  King- 
constance  was  careful  to  explain  that  she  had  returned 
so  soon  because  of  the  damp,  which  affected  "her  unpleas- 
antly. 

Soon  after  the  woman  had  gone,  Miss  Kingconstance 
heard  voices  outside  in  the  corridor.  Twro  maids  had  met 
there,  and  stood  chatting  a  moment.  Involuntarily 
Miss  Kingconstance  listened. 

"  Is  your  name  Susannah  May  ?"  one  said. 

"  Yes.     Have  you  more  than  one  name  ?" 

"  No,  nothing  but  Bertha." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  as  it  isn't  enough.  Mrs.  King- 
constance has  got  four  names,  and  they  call  her  Belle, 
so  what  do  they  all  amount  to  ?  Miss  Kingconstance's 
name  is  pretty — Lorraine." 

"  So  is  Miss  Kingconstance,  don't  you  think  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  she  is  pretty — and  yet  not  pretty  exactly ; 
more  elegant.  And,  my  1  can't  she  dress  !  Everything 
she  gets  becomes  her,  and  it's  all  good." 

"  I  should  think  so !  She  spends  enough  on  her  dress 
to  keep  a  whole  family." 

"  Oh,  my  !  it's  good  to  be  her  1  How  do  you  like  my 
hair  like  this  ?" 

"  I  think  it  suits  you.  It's  your  day  out  to-morrow, 
isn't  it?" 

"  Yes,  and  I  sha'n't  sleep  all  night  for  thinking  about 
it.  I'm  going  to  see  mother." 

Miss  Kingconstance  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 

35 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

reflecting,  long  after  the  maids  had  gone  their  several 
ways.  She  saw  herself  in  a  mirror  —  "  pretty/'  "  ele- 
gant " — yes,  but  what  was  the  use  of  being  so  ?  Those 
little  servants  were  better  off  than  she  was ;  they  had 
something  to  look  forward  to. 

When  Babs  returned  that  evening  from  the  raid  upon 
the  violets,  the  first  person  she  encountered  was  her  aunt 
Lorraine,  loitering  in  a  corridor  up-stairs,  as  if  she  were 
waiting  for  her.  Babs  came  up,  walking  nonchalantly 
in  her  muddy,  wet  clothes,  humming  an  air,  and  swinging 
her  arm  in  time  to  it,  as  if  she  were  conducting  a  band. 
She  was  always  energetic,  always  in  a  whirl,  always 
putting  passionate  interest  into  something,  but,  unfort- 
unately, not  often  twice  into  the  same  thing.  She  was 
inconsequent ;  she  lacked  continu^,  and  did  not  culti- 
vate it ;  she  followed  one  pursuit  after  another,  and  drop- 
ped each  in  turn  with  casual  unconcern.  The  days  of 
her  life  were  like  the  pages  of  a  book  which  are  read  once 
with  interest,  then  turned,  and  never  looked  at  again. 
She  owed  her  nickname  to  her  aunt  Lorraine,  who  used 
to  call  to  her  "Babsl  Babs  the  Impossible!"  when  she 
caught  her  doing  anything  hoydenish.  Then  other  peo- 
ple had  begun  to  call  her  "  Babs"  also,  until  by  degrees 
everybody  had  adopted  the  name,  as  odd  names  are 
often  adopted,  not  for  their  aptness,  but  for  their  incon- 
gruity, and  also,  in  the  case  of  Babs,  to  prevent  confu- 
sion, since  aunt  and  niece  were  both  Lorraine. 

"  Oh,  Babs !"  Miss  Kingconstance  exclaimed.  "  Look 
at  you !  Another  dress  ruined !  What  excuse  can  you 
make  for  yourself,  coming  home  in  such  a  state  ?" 

"  I  should  say  I  was  picturesque,"  said  Babs,  setting 
her  arms  akimbo  and  surveying  herself  in  a  mirror. 

"  I  don't  wonder  your  mother  is  worried  about  you," 
Miss  Kingconstance  pursued,  "and  I  hope  she'll  carry 
out  her  intention." 

36 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  What  intention,  if  you  please  ?"  said  Babs,  defiantly. 

"  Her  intention  to  be  firm  with  you." 

"  Who  put  that  into  her  head  ?"  Babs  asked. 

"  Mr.  Worringham,  my  dear.  Your  mother  consulted 
him  this  afternoon,  and  he  advised  her  to  be  firm." 

"  Oh  !"  said  Babs.  "  So  mamma  consulted  Mr.  Wor- 
ringham about  me,  and  he  advised  her  to  be  firm  ?  How 
is  she  going  to  be  firm  ?" 

"  Well,  when  she  says  you  are  to  do  a  thing,  she's  go- 
ing to  make  you  do  it ;  and  when  she  says  that  you  are 
not  to  do  a  thing,  she's  going  to  see  that  you  don't  do  it." 

*  Oh,  indeed !"  said  Babs.  "  She's  quite  made  up  her 
mind,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Yes,  quite." 

Babs  reflected  for  a  moment,  then  she  whirled  round. 

"  I'd  better  go  and  have  it  out  with  her  at  once!"  she 
exclaimed. 

A  Oh,  Babs !"  Miss  Kingconstance  began,  in  a  tone  of 
remonstrance;  but  Babs  was  already  half-way  down- 
stairs. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,"  she  called  back.  "  I  sha'n't  give 
you  away." 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  had  gone  to  get  ready  for  dinner. 
She  was  in  her  dressing-room,  sitting  in  a  comfortable 
chair  in  front  of  a  duchesse  dressing-table,  having  her 
beautiful  black  hair  arranged  by  her  maid.  She  sat 
with  her  white  hands  folded  and  a  complacent  smile  on 
her  face,  called  forth  by  the  comel3T  reflection  of  her- 
self in  the  long  mirror.  Her  peignoir  of  pale  purple  silk 
suited  her  to  perfection,  and  she  had  just  been  struck  by 
the  fact,  and  was  enjoying  it,  when  Babs,  all  bedraggled 
and  dirty,  burst  in  upon  her  with  a  tragic  face — the 
which,  when  Mrs.  Kingconstance  saw  it  reflected  in  the 
mirror,  banished  her  own  complacent  smile  and  caused 
her  to  look  round  apprehensively. 

37 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Babs  ?"  she  cried.  "  What  has 
happened  ?" 

"  Send  Norton  away.  I  want  to  speak  to  you  alone/' 
Babs  answered,  imperatively. 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  nodded  to  the  maid,  who  with- 
drew. 

"  Now,  mother,"  said  Babs,  taking  up  her  position  be- 
side the  dressing-table  so  as  to  face  her  mother — "  now, 
mother,  what's  the  meaning  of  this  nonsense  ?" 

"  My  dear  child,  what  nonsense  ?"  Mrs.  Kingconstance 
demanded. 

"  This  nonsense  about  being  firm  with  me.  I  hear 
that  you  have  publicty  announced  your  intention  of  be- 
ing firm  with  me.  What  do  you  mean  by  it  ?" 

"  Babs,  is  that  the  way  to  speak  to  your  mother  ?" 
Mrs.  Kingconstance  remonstrated,  plaintively. 

"  Well,  mother,  I  want  to  know,"  Babs  answered,  in  the 
tone  of  one  who  concedes  a  point.  "  Will  you  be  so  good 
as  to  explain  ?  I  don't  understand  your  proceeding  this 
afternoon  at  all.  You  call  in  an  outsider,  and  then  you 
make  complaints  about  me.  How  would  you  like  it  if  I 
did  such  a  thing  ?  It's  not  loyal." 

"  My  dear  child,  I  make  complaints  ?" 

"  W7hat  do  you  call  it,  then  ?  Did  you  praise  me  ?" 
Mrs.  Kingconstance  looked  uncomfortable.  "  You  know 
vou  did  not,"  Babs  pursued ;  "  you  sent  for  old  Worring- 
ham—" 

"  My  dear  child,  Mr.  Worringham." 

"  Well,  never  mind,"  said  Babs,  waiving  that  point 
also,  as  too  trivial  to  dispute.  "  Mr.  Worringham,  if 
you  like,  or  the  Honorable  and  Reverend  Wilfred  Wynd- 
ham  Worringham,  if  you  prefer  it.  That  does  not  alter 
the  matter.  You  sent  for  him  and  you  abused  me.  Now, 
I  ask  you,  was  that  a  nice  thing  to  do  ?" 

"  Well,  I  ask  you,  Babs,"  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance, 
weakly  descending  to  argument,  "  is  it  nice  of  you  to  be 

38 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

so  difficult  ?  You  give  me  more  trouble  than  any  one  or 
anything  else  in  the  world.  What  am  I  to  do  with  you  ? 
Look  at  the  state  you  are  in  now  !  Julia  came  in  not 
long  ago,  neat  and  nice  as  possible,  and  she  said  she  had 
been  out  with  you  this  afternoon  gathering  violets.  If 
she  could  keep  herself  clean,  why  can't  you  ?" 

"  What  did  she  do  with  the  violets,  by-the-way,"  said 
Babs. 

"  She  put  them  on  my  table  in  a  basket,  beautifully  ar- 
ranged. She  knows  how  I  appreciate  such  little  atten- 
tions from  my  children." 

"  She  does  1"  said  Babs,  and  burst  out  laughing  irrele- 
vantly. 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  stared  at  her. 

"  Babs,"  she  said,  solemnly,  "  if  you  don't  mind,  I'm 
afraid  you'll  end  like  your  poor,  dear  aunt." 

"  She  hasn't  ended  yet/'  said  Babs ;  "  but  that's  not 
the  point — neither  are  the  violets.  I'm  glad  you  liked 
them,  though.  I  came  to  remonstrate  with  you  for  dis- 
cussing our  private  family  affairs  with  strangers." 

"  Mr.  Worringham  is  not  a  stranger,  and  he  is  a  cler- 
gyman," Mrs.  Kingconstance  put  in. 

"  It  doesn't  matter,"  said  Babs.  "  He's  no  relation  of 
ours,  and  I  object  to  be  discussed  with  him.  If  you  think 
you  ought  to  be  firmer  with  me,  do  for  goodness  sake  be 
firmer ;  but  don't  announce  your  intention  to  the  whole 
neighborhood.  If  parents  run  up  a  flag  and  fire  a  gun 
every  time  they  have  difficulties  to  settle  with  their  chil- 
dren, there'll  be  a  Chinese  New  Year  in  the  neighborhood 
every  day,  and  I  shall  be  blamed  for  it.  And  as  to  be-, 
ing  firm  with  me  1  You  can't  be  firm  with  me,  you  know. 
It's  perfectly  absurd  to  think  of  such  a  thing.  I'm  here 
to  have  a  good  time,  and  you  can't  prevent  me.  You 
know  you  can't — you  know  you  can't,"  she  reiterated, 
passionately. 

"  My  dear  child,  I  don't  want  to  prevent  you.  The 

39 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

better  time  you  have  the  better  I   shall  be  pleased, 
only—" 

"Ah  1  now  you  speak  in  a  motherly  way/'  said  Babs  ; 
"  but  don't  go  and  spoil  it  all  with  your  '  only.' " 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  looked  about  her  helplessly. 

"  I  shall  be  late  for  dinner  !"  she  ejaculated. 

"  Well,  I  won't  detain  you  a  moment  longer  if  you'll 
promise  me — " 

"  Promise  what  ?"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  interjected,  ap- 
prehensively. 

"  Promise  not  to  go  consulting  people  about  me  again. 
I  won't  have  it." 

"  Babs,"  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance,  with  dignity,  "  you 
must  not  speak  to  your  mother  like  that." 

"  Well,  I  won't  have  it,"  Babs  repeated,  obstinately. 

"  How  are  you  going  to  prevent  it  ?"  her  mother  asked, 
sarcastically. 

"  If  you  go  and  consult  people  about  me  and  make 
complaints  of  me,  I  shall  do  the  same  about  you,  and 
then  you'll  just  see  how  you  like  it  yourself." 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  was  silenced. 

"  Will  you  promise  ?"  Babs  asked. 

"  Oh,  Babs  !"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  complained,  "  you 
ought  to  consider  your  mother  more,  I  think.  You 
ought  to  try  to  be  more  of  a  comfort  to  me." 

"A  comfort  to  you  !  Why,  what  comfort  ^.re  you  to 
me  ?"  said  Babs. 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  sighed. 

"  I  feel  quite  upset,"  she  said. 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Babs.  "  I  shall  be  obliged  to  go  to  my 
own  room  directly  to  recover.  I  shall  stay  there  the 
whole  evening.  I  can't  eat  anything." 

"  But,  my  dear  child,  you  must  have  something  to 
eat." 

"  No,  I  shall  not,"  said  Babs. 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  reflected. 

40 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Look  here,  Babs,"  she  said,  at  last,  "  will  you  prom- 
ise to  be  a  good  girl,  and  not  do  impossible  things  ?" 

"  That's  just  what  I'm  asking  you,"  said  Babs,  viva- 
ciously. "  If  you  will  promise  not  to  complain  of  me 
again,  and  not  to  talk  ridiculous  nonsense  about  being 
firm,  Til  see  what  I  can  do.  You're  a  nice  mamma,  and 
a  pretty  mamma,  and  a  young  mamma  ;  why  aren't 
you  a  kind,  good  mamma  ?" 

"  Oh,  Babs  !"  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance,  glancing  at 
herself  in  the  mirror  and  melting  into  a  smile.  "  You 
can't  call  me  unkind  \" 

"  Well,  was  it  kind  of  you  to  complain  of  me  ?" 

"  I  meant  it  for  the  best,  but  perhaps  it  was  not  very 
wise,"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  weakly  conceded. 

"  That's  just  it  ;  it  wasn't  at  all  wise,"  said  Babs  ; 
"  so  promise  not  to  do  it  again."  She  took  up  her  moth- 
er's hair  in  both  hands  and  bathed  her  face  in  it.  "  What 
beautiful  hair  !  And  it  does  smell  so  sweet !  Will  you 
promise  ?" 

"  Dear  child,  of  course.  Look  at  the  clock,  Babs. 
Everything  will  be  spoiled." 

"  No  fear,"  said  Babs.  "  Don't  forget  you've  prom- 
ised. Now  I'm  off.  Norton,  you  can  come  back." 

"  Babs !  Babs  !  You'll  come  down  and  have  some- 
thing to  eat  ?"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  called,  after  all. 

"  I  shall  lie  down,  and  not  have  anything  to  eat,"  Babs 
asseverated. 

On  the  way  up-stairs  she  met  her  brother  coming 
down  dressed. 

"  Oh,  Babs  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  Not  dressed  yet  ?  You'll 
be  late.  What  have  you  been  doing  ?" 

*  Reasoning  with  mamma.  It  seems  she's  got  some 
tick  in  her  head  about  being  firm  with  me.  If  she  began 
to  be  firm  with  me,  what  would  become  of  us  ?" 

"  We  shouldn't  have  our  own  way  in  anything  !"  he 
ejaculated. 

41 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  No.  That's  just  it.  And  she'd  be  laying  up  much 
misery  for  herself  too.  She  couldn't  be  firm.  It  isn't 
in  her.  A  duck  might  as  well  determine  to  cackle,  or  a 
hen  to  quack." 

"  Did  you  tell  her  so  ?" 

"  No.  I  didn't  think  of  it  at  the  moment.  Besides,  1 
didn't  tackle  her  so  much  on  that  score.  What  vexed 
me  most  was  her  sending  for  Mr.  Worringham  to  con- 
sult him  about  me." 

"Did  she  do  that?" 

"  Yes  ;  but  I  made  her  promise  she'd  never  do  such  a 
thing  again.  We  won't  be  given  away  like  that  to  out- 
siders, Cute." 

"  I  should  think  not,  indeed  1  But,  I  say,  Babs,  she 
won't  keep  her  word." 

"  She  will  while  she  remembers." 

*  But  when  she  forgets  ?" 

"  We'll  just  have  to  pull  her  up  again." 

"  Julia's  been  invited  to  dinner  to-night,"  he  informed 
her,  *  so  we'll  have  the  school-room  to  ourselves." 

"  We've  much  to  be  thankful  for  !"  Babs  ejaculated — 
"  at  least,  you  have.  I'm  not  coming  down." 

"  Why  not  ?" 

"  Business." 

He  grinned  intelligently  and  ran  on. 

42 


CHAPTER    V 

CADENHOUSE  had  been  away  in  the  East  for 
a  while,  and  had  just  returned.  He  went  with- 
out leave-taking — none  knew  for  how  long — 
and  came  again  without  warning.  In  his  ab- 
sence all  had  been  ordered  in  his  household  and  on  his 
property  as  though  he  had  gone  only  for  the  day.  The 
tower  alone  had  been  close  shut  and  locked  and  barred, 
and  at  night  there  had  been  darkness  where  the  wonder- 
ful opaline  light  was  wont  to  shine  from  the  topmost 
stage  and  far  out  to  sea  when  Cadenhouse  was  at  home. 
A  curious  thing  happened  to  him  the  first  night  he 
spent  in  the  tower  on  his  return.  He  was  sitting  there 
alone,  not  in  the  topmost  story,  but  in  the  lower  stage. 
It  had  been  pouring  hard  all  day,  but  the  night  had 
cleared,  the  crescent  moon  shone  in  a  cobalt  sky,  and  a 
few  big  stars  burned  brightly.  Cadenhouse  looked  up 
at  the  quiet  stars.  He  had  a  book  on  his  knee,  but  his 
thoughts  were  wandering.  He  felt  those  worlds  a  weary 
way  off  just  then.  There  were  times  when  they  seemed 
quite  close,  but  that  night  he  was  more  in  touch  with  our 
planet.  His  earthly  ears  were  open  to  earthlj7  matters, 
strive  as  he  would  to  close  them.  He  heard  the  incessant 
murmur  of  the  forest  below,  sea -like,  and  the  separate 
sighing  of  the  great  trees  when  the  fitful  gusts  disturbed 
them.  An  owl  hooted,  a  startled  bird  twittered  its  re- 
monstrances, in  the  distance  a  cock  crowed  at  intervals, 
and  a  fox  barked  on  a  sudden  near  at  hand.  They  were 
all  old,  accustomed  sounds — he  had  heard  them  again 

43 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

and  again — yet  just  for  that  very  reason,  and  because  of 
other  days,  they  came  to  him  with  the  significance  of 
manifold  association,  and  made  him  feel  for  the  moment 
his  own  aloofness.  He  glanced  at  his  book,  and  read : 
"  For  the  very  fact  of  bliss  implies  duality."  And  he 
was  alone.  He  entertained  this  sensation  for  a  moment, 
then  thrust  it  aside,  and  read  again  :  "All  things  are 
made  of  the  Divine  Substance,  which  is  the  Divine  Idea, 
and  matter  is  spirit  made  manifest  by  motion."  As  he 
finished  the  phrase  he  found  himself  thinking  of  an  odd 
episode  in  his  life — a  night  visit  he  had  paid  to  a  place 
of  entertainment  in  London.  It  had  happened  years  be- 
fore, and  he  had  scarcely  thought  of  the  scene  since,  but 
the  recollection  of  it  recurred  to  him  now,  suddenly,  and 
with  singular  vividness.  He  tried  to  banish  it,  but  it 
persisted.  He  saw  it  as  a  scene  that  is  being  enacted., 
and  it  was  as  if  he  were  both  looking  on  and  taking  part 
in  it.  "  How  is  this  ?"  he  wondered.  "  Where  am  I  ?" 
The  recollection  went  out  like  a  flash.  Cadenhouse  re- 
turned to  his  book ;  but  the  same  thing  happened  again. 
It  was  a  note-book  he  had  been  studying,  full  of  miscel- 
laneous jottings.  This  time  his  eye  lighted  on  the 
words  :  "  The  survival  for  an  indefinite  period  of  the 
images  of  events  occurring  on  the  earth  in  the  astral 
light,  or  memory  of  the  planet,  called  the  anima  mundi, 
which  images  can  be  evoked  and  beheld."  He  tried  to 
reflect  upon  this,  but  found  himself  thinking  instead  of 
a  tall,  stout,  bearded  man  in  a  linen  jacket.  Where  had 
he  seen  that  man  ?  His  face  was  familiar.  However, 
what  was  the  use  of  asking  ?  He  wanted  to  read,  not 
to  rake  up  old  associations.  But  of  course  he  remem- 
bered. There  was  the  whole  scene — lights  flaring  on  a 
crowd  of  men  and  women,  and,  above  all,  conspicuous, 
the  tall,  stout,  bearded  man. 

Cadenhouse  made  a  last  desperate  effort  to  concentrate 
his  attention  upon  his  book.     In  vain.     The  tall,  stout 

44 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

man  appeared  upon  every  page,  until  at  last,  being  fain 
to  comprehend,  Cadenhouse  resigned  himself,  set  his 
mortal  eyes  on  the  night  sky,  and  released  his  spirit. 
In  a  moment  the  whole  episode,  with  the  tall,  stout  man 
for  its  centre,  reconstructed  itself,  and  Cadenhouse  was 
living  it  over  again. 

He  had  been  at  his  club  in  London  one  night  with  an- 
other young  fellow,  Jeffrey  Wylde,  of  Wyldeholme,  a 
neighboring  land-owner  who  had  also  inherited  his  prop- 
erty early.  They  were  both  of  them  in  the  first  flush  of 
possession  and  of  early  manhood,  and  the  big  cities 
claimed  them,  luring  them  to  enlightenment  or  to  de- 
struction, as  the  case  might  be.  They  had  known  each 
other  all  their  lives.  Similar  interests  and  near  neigh- 
borhood had  made  a  certain  intimacy  habitual,  and  they 
had  the  kind  of  liking  for  each  other  that  comes  of  the 
position ;  but  they  were  too  dissimilar  to  allow  of  their 
being  sympathetic  friends.  Just  at  that  time  Jeffrey 
Wylde  was  for  doing,  while  Cadenhouse  was  for  seeing 
everything. 

They  had  met  by  chance  and  dined  together,  and  it 
had  become  a  question  of  what  to  do  next. 

"  Come  and  see  Binks,"  said  Jeffrey. 

"  Who  is  Binks  ?"  Cadenhouse  asked. 

"  Oh,  a  droll  chap  who  has  made  a  fortune  by  mixing 
drinks.  He  swears  that  the  drinks  are  original  concoc- 
tions of  his  own,  not  to  be  had  elsewhere.  The  whole 
show  consists  in  seeing  him  mix  the  drinks  and  listen- 
ing to  his  '  patter/  He  tosses  the  drinks  from  one  glass 
to  another  over  his  head  without  spilling  a  drop,  and 
talks  all  the  time.  Lots  of  fellows  go  to  draw  him,  but 
they  don't  get  much  small  change  out  of  old  Binks. 
He's  well  worth  seeing.  Will  you  come  ?" 

Cadenhouse  assented. 

They  sauntered  out  into  the  street  in  the  leisurely  way 
men  move  when  it  is  the  habit  of  their  lives  to  have  time 

45 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

and  money  always  at  their  disposal.  People  glancing 
at  them  saw  two  ordinarj'  good-looking  young  English- 
men of  the  upper  class,  with  nothing  exceptional  discern- 
ible about  either  of  them.  Jeffrey  Wylde  was  the  finer 
animal  of  the  two — somewhat  short,  but  clear  of  skin  and 
bright  of  eye,  an  attractive  specimen  of  youth  and  health 
and  strength ;  but  Cadenhouse  was  the  more  refined, 
the  more  distinguished-looking.  You  would  have  mis- 
taken Wykle  for  an  affluent,  intelligent  young  military 
man,  but  you  would  have  suspected  that  Cadenhouse 
was  more  than  that — a  somebody  capable  of  something. 
It  was  the  height  of  the  summer  season,  and  the  streets 
were  crammed.  The  young  men  got  into  a  hansom, 
and  sat  looking  out  at  the  throng,  Jeffrey  just  seeing 
the  surface  with  interest,  Cadenhouse  seeing  beneath  and 
suffering.  That  was  rather  the  trend  of  his  nature;  the 
sorrow  was  more  patent  to  him  than  the  joy  of  life.  A 
beautiful,  gentle-looking  girl  passed  in  a  carriage,  sit- 
ting beside  a  hard,  cruel,  worldly  faced  mother.  Jeffrey 
saw  only  the  beauty  of  the  girl,  which  pleased  him; 
Cadenhouse  saw  the  mother  also,  and  was  filled  with 
compassion. 

They  pulled  up  in  a  glare  of  light  outside  a  severely 
simple  building,  somewhat  ecclesiastical  in  design,  which 
stood  in  a  conspicuous  position  at  the  corner  of  two  mean 
streets.  Cornermen  hung  about  outside,  waiting  hun- 
grily for  something  to  turn  up  —  a  job  that  meant 
money,  or  a  chance  tip  that  meant  drink,  that  meant 
suspension  of  the  consciousness  of  misery.  The  traffic 
swirled  about  the  corner.  On  the  pavement  people  jos- 
tled each  other,  dodged  each  otherto  avoid  collisions,  hur- 
ried, scurried — gentlemen  in  evening-dress,  with  ladies 
on  their  arms,  in  satin  shoes  and  silken  wraps,  looking 
for  their  carriages  and  cabs  ;  working  women  with  ba- 
bies and  baskets ;  boys  fighting,  playing,  disputing, 
getting  in  everybody's  way ;  artisans  — an  endless 

46 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

stream,  coming  from  four  different  directions,  and  meet- 
ing and  blocking  each  other's  passage  at  the  corner, 
where  the  policeman  stood,  while  in  the  roadway,  all  in 
a  golden  haze,  was  a  block  of  vehicles — lumbering  om- 
nibuses, cabs  and  carts,  dainty  broughams,  landaus,  and 
victorias — with  suffering  horses  whipped  forward,  jerked 
back,  pulled  this  way  and  that — sinless,  silent  victims  of 
man's  brutality  and  man's  mistakes.  The  bustle,  the 
racket,  the  confusion,  the  smell  of  horses,  human  beings, 
meat,  fish,  fruit,  flowers,  stale  vegetables,  and  tobacco, 
the  moving  lights  and  shadows,  the  constant  collisions, 
kept  every  sense  strained  to  distraction.  There  was  no 
more  visible  sign  of  law  in  that  chaos  than  there  is  in 
the  lives  of  men,  and  it  was  wonderful  to  think  that  there 
was  order  in  it  nevertheless,  the  order  educed  from  every 
one's  intention,  by  which  all  were  being  extricated  from 
the  mass,  and  sent  their  several  ways  without  intermis- 
sion, and,  for  the  most  part,  in  safety. 

Jeffrey  led  the  way,  pushing  forward  across  the  pave- 
ment into  the  building.  They  passed  from  an  ante-room 
hung  with  crimson,  and  embellished  with  huge  palms 
and  plaster  statues,  into  a  large  hall  supported  by  pillars, 
and  crowded  with  people  sitting  about  small  tables.  The 
first  whiff  of  hot  air  in  the  place,  reeking  with  spirits  and 
tobacco,  was  overpowering.  At  the  far  end  of  the  hall 
an  arrangement  of  lights  high  up  on  the  wall  flashed 
forth  at  intervals  the  legend,  in  different  colors  each 
time: 

*  BINKS'S  PRISMATIC    SOUL-REVIVERS  ! 

"lj   EACH." 

Beneath  this  shining  device  there  was  a  solid  platform, 
and  on  the  platform  was  a  counter.  Behind  it  stood  a 
tall,  stout,  bearded  man,  with  a  burnished  goblet  in  either 
hand.  From  the  goblets  there  issued  upward  a  luminous 
liquid  arc,  tinted  like  a  rainbow. 

47 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  That's  Binks/'  said  Jeffrey.  "  Just  watch  him.  He's 
a  wonderful  fellow.  He's  got  the  whole  concern  together 
— built  the  place  (he  was  his  own  architect),  and  runs  it 
himself.  When  he  started,  his  whole  stock-in-trade  was 
that  knack  of  mixing  drinks.  He  began  as  a  barman, 
and  men  used  to  order  drinks  just  to  see  him  mix  them. 
They  do  that  kind  of  thing  in  America,  I  believe,  but 
here  it  was  a  novelty,  and  naturally  fellows  took  to  tip- 
ping him ;  and  being  a  man  of  marked  character,  with 
an  object  in  view,  he  hoarded  all  he  got.  He  was  deter- 
mined to  set  up  for  himself,  and  he's  done  it." 

They  made  their  way  among  the  little  tables  where 
men  and  women,  some  of  them  extremely  well  dressed, 
were  sitting  with  drinks  before  them.  Business  was  just 
at  its  height,  and  Mr.  Binks  was  working  off  orders  with 
the  rapidity  and  precision  of  a  machine.  They  secured 
a  table  quite  close  to  the  platform,  and  sat  down.  All 
about  them,  at  the  other  tables,  were  young  men  in  even- 
ing-dress— a  whole  school  of  them  sitting  under  Binks  as 
an  instructor,  waiting  to  pick  up  crumbs  of  wit,  slang, 
and  catch-words  with  which  to  eke  out  their  own  scanty 
supply.  Not  that  they  were  extravagant  in  these  things; 
one  word  among  them  eccentrically  applied  served  the 
whole  set  for  a  season.  Just  at  that  time  everything 
was  "  weird."  There  were  no  ladies  at  those  tables.  Ca- 
denhouse  commented  on  the  fact,  and  asked  if  betting 
took  the  place  of  beauty. 

"  No,"  said  Jeffrey ;  "  Binks  won't  have  either  here. 
It's  a  fad  of  his.  He  says  he'll  have  no  corruption  of 
youth  in  his  establishment.  Parents  and  guardians 
may  trust  him." 

*  BINKS 'S   PRISMATIC  SOUL-REVIVERS  ! 
"  Is  EACH" 

flashed  red  on  the  assembly  while  Jeffrey  was  speaking. 
Waiters  in  white  jackets  dashed  about  incessantly,  car- 

48 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

rying  trays.  There  were  steps  on  either  side  of  the  plat- 
form, up  and  down  which  they  ran  incessantly.  Mr. 
Binks,  also  in  a  white  jacket,  tossed  the  drinks  without 
intermission.  Many  of  the  people  sat  staring  at  him  as 
if  fascinated.  When  the  fluid  ascended,  shining  irrides- 
cent  in  the  gaudy  lights,  their  eyes  followed  the  arc  it 
described  with  constant  interest.  They  looked  like  wor- 
shippers of  light  and  liquid  in  the  early  stages  of  ecstacy. 

Jeffrey  ordered  drinks.  They  were  cool  and  delicious, 
but  of  unsuspected  potency. 

Closing  time  was  at  hand.  The  people  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  hall  began  to  disperse,  but  the  young  men  near 
the  platform  sat  on.  Mr.  Binks  glanced  at  the  clock, 
and  his  efforts  relaxed.  All  this  time  he  had  been  too 
busy  to  hold  forth. 

"  Should  think  your  arms  ached,  Binks,"  said  one  of 
the  youths. 

"  They  would  with  your  stamina,  sir,  but  I've  good 
blood  in  me,"  was  the  rejoinder,  rolled  out  in  a  large, 
deep,  precise  way,  as  if  the  speaker  were  more  accus- 
tomed to  pulpits  than  to  gin-palaces.  It  was  not  a  com- 
mon voice,  but  a  careful  one,  the  voice  of  a  man  who  had 
conquered  commonness  by  cultivation. 

Cadenhouse  looked  at  him  with  more  interest  after  he 
had  spoken.  A  waiter  came  with  an  order.  Binks 
glanced  again  at  the  clock. 

"  Closing  time,  gentlemen,"  he  gave  out,  impressively. 

Then  he  handed  the  empty  mugs  he  was  holding  in 
his  hands  to  an  attendant  acolyte,  and  sat  down  on  a 
large  carved-oak  chair  that  stood  behind  him. 

"  I  say,  just  one  more,  Binks,"  pleaded  a  clear  voice 
from  among  the  youths. 

"  Not  another  to-night,  Sir  Clarence,"  Binks  replied. 

"  I  know  the  police,  and  the  police  know  me.     I  might 

have  the  lights  up  all  night ;  they'll  never  come  to  see 

if  I  am  serving  drinks  after  hours.     I've  made  my  money 

D  49 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

by  keeping  the  law,  not  by  breaking  it.  I  recommend 
you  to  take  note.  Be  what  you're  supposed  to  be — it 
doesn't  matter  what  it  is.  If  you're  a  publican,  be  a  pub- 
lican; if  you're  a  gentleman,  be  a  gentleman;  and  in 
either  case  be  honest  and  mind  your  own  business. 
Don't  just  call  yourself  what  you  want  to  appear  to 
be — find  out  what's  expected  of  you  in  that  state  of  life, 
and  do  it.  Pretending's  no  good,  and  putting  on  the 
manner  to  one  person  and  dropping  it  to  another — if  it's 
only  a  servant — is  no  good.  You've  got  to  be  the  thing 
right  through,  if  you  mean  to  succeed.  When  you're  a 
gentleman,  I  say,  be  a  gentleman ;  raise  your  hat  and 
make  your  bow — ladies  first — noblesse  oblige — and  all  the 
rest  of  it.  When  you're  a  barman,  be  a  barman ;  slop 
the  beer  about  and  slap  the  money  down. " 

He  had  risen  and  was  holding  forth  with  suitable  ges- 
ticulation, but  stopped  abruptly  while  in  the  act  of  em- 
phasizing the  last  phrase  with  a  sounding  slap,  and 
stared  intently  at  Cadenhouse. 

"  Struck  all  of  a  heap,  Binks  ?"  a  sallow  youth  asked, 
in  a  jeering  tone. 

Binks  slowly  descended  from  the  platform,  and  stood 
with  his  back  against  it,  facing  the  groups  of  young  men. 
They  all  turned  to  him,  forming  a  semicircle  round  him. 

"  I'm  struck  by  a  likeness,  sir,"  he  said  to  Cadenhouse, 
by  way  of  apology  for  staring  at  him.  "  You  and  your 
gentleman  friend  there  both  remind  me  of  the  dead  and 
gone — of  a  hall  in  a  hollow  and  a  tower  on  a  hill." 

"  Hullo  !  old  Binks  is  poetic  !"  said  a  shrill-voiced 
youth. 

"  Shut  up,"  a  companion  remonstrated,  with  a  kick 
under  the  table.  He  wanted  to  hear  what  wras  going  on. 

The  gaudy  device  above  flashed  green.  Sudden  seri- 
ousness settled  on  the  group.  Each  man  looked  at  his 
neighbor,  and  saw  a  sunken  face  the  color  of  death.  The 
muffled  roar  of  the  traffic  without  penetrated  to  their 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

ears.  It  was  like  the  sound  of  the  sea — continuous,  in- 
sistent— the  articulate  murmur  of  eternity.  The  light 
flashed  white.  The  sea-like  sound  subsided  to  an  under- 
tone, and  then  went  out ;  and  Cadenhouse  heard  only 
the  breeze  among  the  branches  playing  a  soft  accompa- 
niment to  the  mellow  notes  of  a  nightingale.  Laying 
hold  of  the  idea,  he  was  wrenched  from  his  reverie,  and 
found  himself  sitting  alone  in  his  old  gray  tower,  with 
his  eyes  on  the  crescent  moon. 


CHAPTER    VI 

CADENHOUSE'S  first  thought  when  he  came  to 
himself  was  of  the  month — that  it  was  March, 
and  the  nightingales  had  not  arrived.  Then 
whence  those  mellow  notes?  The  impression 
of  them  was  still  distinct  in  his  mind  ;  but  it  was  as  if 
his  ears  shut  when  his  eyes  opened,  so  that  the  sound 
was  blotted  out.  And  it  was  the  same  with  the  recollec- 
tion of  that  bygone  adventure.  He  tried  hard  to  recall 
what  had  happened  after  the  light  flashed  green,  but 
his  memory  was  a  blank.  He  could  not  recollect  how 
the  evening  had  ended,  nor  how  he  got  himself  away 
from  Mr.  Binks  and  his  party,  nor  what  became  of 
Jeffrey. 

As  he  was  concentrating  himself  upon  the  effort  to  re- 
call the  scene,  he  became  aware  of  an  unusual  commo- 
tion in  the  tower.  At  first  he  thought  it  was  a  bird  that 
had  got  in  and  was  fluttering  on  the  staircase.  Then  he 
thought  it  more  like  the  rustle  of  drapery.  Then  all  at 
once  it  was  a  footstep — a  stealthy  step,  and  hesitating. 
Some  one  was  in  the  tower,  though  how  any  one  could 
have  got  in  was  the  puzzle,  for  Cadenhouse  went  to  and 
fro  by  an  underground  passage,  so  that  the  outer  door 
was  seldom  opened. 

He  took  a  lamp  from  the  table  and  went  to  the  head 
of  the  stairs. 

"  Who's  there  ?"  he  asked,  peering  down  into  the  dark 
depth. 

All  was  still  for  the  moment.  Then  light  footsteps 

52 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

sounded  on  the  steep  stone  staircase — hesitating  foot- 
steps, as  of  one  who  comes  up  reluctantly. 

"  Who  is  there  ?"  Lord  Cadenhouse  repeated. 

There  was  no  answer  ;  but  presently  out  of  the  dark- 
ness, upraised  to  him,  there  emerged  the  face  of  an  an- 
gel. His  heart  stood  still.  It  had  always  been  his 
dream  to  see  just  such  a  face  ;  and  now,  in  the  midnight, 
in  the  stillness,  there  it  was  at  last,  with  earnest  eyes 
upraised. 

But  the  eyes  were  not  saintly  eyes  at  all,  as  he  soon 
discovered  when  they  were  more  level  with  his  own.  He 
thought  them  anything  but  saintly  when  he  came  to  ex- 
amine them,  and  the  face  expressed  none  of  the  serenity 
ordinarily  associated  with  the  idea  of  angel  visitants.  On 
the  contrary,  it  was  a  hot,  red,  embarrassed  face,  half- 
laughing,  half-defiant — the  face  of  one  caught  in  the 
act. 

"  To  what  do  I  owe  this  honor,  madam  ?"  Cadenhouse 
was  beginning,  formally,  when  his  visitor  reached  the  lit- 
tle stone  stage  which  formed  the  landing  where  he  stood. 
But  he  backed  into  the  room  behind  him  as  he  spoke, 
holding  the  lamp  aloft  to  light  the  way,  for  there  was 
scarcely  room  for  two  people  to  stand  together  outside. 

"  To  a  variety  of  causes,  sir,"  said  Babs,  recovering 
herself.  "  Curiosity  first,  to  be  perfectly  accurate.  1 
just  ached  to  know  about  that  light  of  yours.  1  was 
taken  that  way  suddenly,  and  I  should  have  burst  if  1 
hadn't  come  to  see  for  myself." 

They  were  in  the  lower  stage  of  the  tower,  a  large 
apartment,  full  of  a  heterogeneous  collection  of  things — 
books,  art  treasures,  anatomical  specimens,  scientific  in- 
struments. 

Babs  glanced  round  with  interest ;  then  she  looked 
up  at  Cadenhouse.  Now  that  they  were  face  to  face  she 
was  much  the  less  abashed  of  the  two,  for  Cadenhouse 
was  a  grave,  silent  man,  given  to  reading  and  reflection, 

53 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

and  more  apt  to  commune  with  saints  and  angels  than 
with  specimens  of  the  order  to  which  Babs  belonged. 

"  You're  holding  that  lamp  and  looking  at  me  as  if  you 
had  never  seen  me  before,"  she  said.  "  You'll  not  forget 
me  again,  I  expect." 

*  Have  I  seen  you  before  ?"  said  Cadenhouse,  puzzled. 

"  Why,  yes.  I've  sat  on  your  knee  and  pulled  your 
hair.  You  weren't  so  formal  then.  Don't  you  remem- 
ber at  Dane  Court — Babs  ?"  she  said,  impatiently. 

"  Oh,  Babs !"  he  ejaculated,  as  if  that  explained 
everything.  "  But  how  you've  grown  !" 

"  Now  don't  say  that,  like  everybody  else,"  said  Babs, 
pouting,  "  as  if  it  were  an  unusual  thing  at  my  age.  Put 
down  the  lamp  and  be  more  original.  Here  am  I  giving 
you  a  treat,  and  you  don't  seem  to  be  enjoying  it  a  bit." 

"  You  say  you  came  to  see  the  light.  Were  you  not 
afraid  that  you  might  encounter  me  ?" 

"  Afraid !  What  is  there  to  be  afraid  of  ?  I  just  in- 
cluded the  possibility  of  your  catching  me  as  another 
item  to  add  to  the  excitement.  I  hoped  to  see  you  with- 
out being  seen.  I  did  want  to  know  so  much  what  you 
do  up  here  ;  but  that  pesky  dark  down-stairs  upset  my 
plans.  You  heard  me  stumbling  about,  I  suppose  ?" 
She  smiled  up  in  his  face.  "I  was  wondering  how 
you'd  take  it  if  you  caught  me,"  she  said.  "  You  look 
almighty  solemn.  Are  you  very  much  put  out  ?" 

"  I  am  very  much  embarrassed,"  he  assured  her.  "  I 
am  not  accustomed  to  visits  from  young  ladies  at  this 
time  of  night,  and  I  do  not  know  how  to  entertain 
them." 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  a  young  lady,"  said  Babs.  "  Get  rid  of 
that  idea,  and  you'll  find  yourself  more  at  ease.  I'm  not 
even  in  long  dresses,  so  don't  be  stiff  and  proud.  It's 
absurd,  you  know,  with  a  little  girl  who  was  pulling  your 
hair  not  so  very  long  ago." 

"  But  you  would  not  pull  my  hair  now." 

54,     - 


"'YOU   LOOK   ALMIGHTY    SOLEMN1 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  No,  nor  sit  on  your  knee ;  but  only  because  that 
kind  of  thing  wouldn't  be  a  pleasure  to  me  now." 

"  Do  you  do  everything  that  is  a  pleasure,  or  that 
promises  to  be  a  pleasure  to  you  ?" 

"  Everything,"  said  Babs.  "  But  the  things  that  were 
a  pleasure  last  year  are  not  a  pleasure  this." 

"Ah  !"  said  Cadenhouse,  "  you  have  learned  that  les- 
son, have  you  ?  You  perceive  already  the  transient 
nature  of  all  earthly  joys  ?" 

"  No,  that  did  not  strike  me,  because  it  does  not  mat- 
ter," said  Babs.  "  What  I  do  perceive  is  the  endless  va- 
riety of  earthly  joys.  I  can  see  one  of  our  earthly  joys 
succeeding  another  on  into  eternity,  and  I  want  to  try 
them  all." 

Cadenhouse  put  down  the  lamp  and  stood  beside  the 
table,  gazing  at  her  in  perplexity. 

Babs  ensconced  herself  in  a  narrow,  high-backed,  oak 
arm-chair,  and  opened  her  cloak.  It  was  a  big  black 
cloak  that  entirely  covered  her.  Underneath  she  wore 
her  ordinary  evening-gown  of  soft  white  silk,  made  high 
at  the  neck,  as  became  her  age.  Her  bright  fair  hair 
shone  against  the  dark  wood,  and  her  face  settled  into  its 
habitual  expression  of  angelic  sweetness.  She  was  look- 
ing at  a  picture  on  the  wall  opposite  that  interested  her, 
and  Cadenhouse,  seeing  her  so,  marvelled  that  such  an 
audacious  spirit  could  assume  such  an  aspect  of  rever- 
ent repose.  He  had  run  quickly  over  in  his  own  mind 
the  various  possibilities  that  this  outrageous  escapade 
of  hers  portended,  and  had  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  it  was  his  duty  to  read  her  such  a  lecture  as 
should  effectually  put  a  stop  to  this  form  of  advent- 
ure. 

"  Babs,"  he  began. 

"  Cadenhouse,"  she  rejoined,  turning  to  him  and  smil- 
ing bewitchingly. 

Cadenhouse  condoned  the  impertinence  by  responding 

55 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

to  the  smile  involuntarily.     What  he  had  intended  to 
say  escaped  him.     He  substituted  something  else. 

"  When  your  curiosity  is  quite  satisfied/'  he  said,  "  I 
will  see  you  safe  home." 

"  Then  begin  at  once  and  show  me  everything,"  said 
Babs. 

"  I  can  show  you  nothing  you  have  not  already  seen/' 
he  answered,  firmly. 

"  Oh,  Cadenhouse,"  she  pleaded,  "  you'll  show  me  the 
light  ?  You'll  show  me  the  upper  stage  ?  You'll  tell 
me  all  you  do  ?"  She  jumped  up  and  clasped  his  arm  in 
her  eagerness.  Cadenhouse  looked  down  into  the  sweet 
little  face  but  stood  firm.  She  threw  her  arms  round 
his  neck,  and  drew  his  face  down  to  hers  and  rubbed 
her  cheek  against  his  cheek,  coaxing  like  a  little  child. 
"  You  must !  You  must !"  she  said. 

Cadenhouse  gently  disengaged  himself. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  answered  her,  stiffly — "  I  am  sorry 
I  cannot.  Perhaps  in  the  future — "  He  took  a  turn 
about  the  room.  "  But  come,  come,"  he  said,  at  last.  "  I 
will  see  you  safe  home." 

Babs  pouted. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said.  "  Is  that  to  be  the  extent  of 
your  hospitality  ?" 

"  What  else  can  I  do  for  you  ?" 

"  You  can  show  me  the  tower,  and  tell  me  all  you  do," 
she  persisted.  "  Won't  you  ?  Oh,  do  !" 

Cadenhouse  shook  his  head. 

"  I  never  allow  any  one  to  go  farther  than  this  stage," 
he  said. 

"  Oh,  but  do  let  me !"  Babs  pleaded.  "  This  is  all  so 
commonplace — what  anybody  might  have  imagined.  I 
want  to  go  all  the  way  up.  I  tell  you  I  ache  to  go.  I 
shall  give  you  no  peace  till  you  let  me." 

"  You  would  be  dreadfully  disappointed,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  let  me  be  disappointed,"  she  rejoined. 

56 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

But  Cadenhouse  stood  firm  in  spite  of  her  pleading. 

"  Perhaps — some  day/'  he  said,  at  last.  "  Certainly 
not  to-night." 

"  I  shall  come  when  you  are  not  here,"  Babs  threat- 
ened. 

But  he  smiled  at  the  threat,  and  then  bethought  him. 

"  By-the-way,  how  did  you  get  in  to-night  ?"  he  asked. 

Babs  looked  hard  at  him,  but  she  would  not  say,  and 
he  was  obliged  to  let  the  question  drop. 

Then  there  was  a  pause. 

"  You  said  you  had  several  reasons  for  coming,"  he 
said,  at  last ;  "  but  you  have  only  given  me  one." 

"  My  curiosity  ?"  she  answered.  "  Well,  another  rea- 
son was — but  never  you  mind.  If  you  keep  your  thing- 
umbobs to  yourself  I  shall  keep  mine.  I  suppose  you 
didn't  hear  my  music  to-night  ?" 

"  I  fancied  I  heard  the  notes  of  a  nightingale,  but  I 
was  dreaming." 

Babs  took  a  deep  breath,  then  suddenly  warbled  a 
stave.  Cadenhouse  listened  and  forgot  to  be  stern  any 
more. 

"  You  have  a  beautiful  voice,"  he  said.  "  But  why 
did  you  advertise  your  visit  in  that  way,  if  you  were 
afraid  of  being  caught  ?" 

"  To  find  out  if  you  were  here,  of  course.  I  thought 
if  you  heard  me  you  would  make  some  sign." 

"  But,  my  dear  child,  if  I  had  heard  you,  that  would 
have  been  catching  you  all  the  same." 

"  I  should  have  had  time  to  get  away,"  said  Babs. 

"  Oh,  you  reckoned  on  that,  did  you  ?"  he  said. 

"  Not  on  that  altogether,  either,"  said  Babs. 

"  On  what,  then  ?" 

"  On  the  assurance  in  myself  that  no  harm  could  come 
to  me." 

"  What  assurance  ?"  he  asked. 

"  It  came  to  me  in  this  way,"  she  rejoined.  "  I  was 

57 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

sitting  on  the  side  of  my  bed,  feeling  bored,  and  won- 
dering what  I  should  do.  I  consulted  the  portrait  of  an 
ancestor  of  mine  that  hangs  in  my  room ;  and  the  an- 
swer that  came  to  me  was  : 

"  '  There  is  a  power  whose  care 

Traces  thy  way  along  the  pathless  coast, 
The  desert,  and  illimitable  air. 
Lone  wand'ring,  but  not  lost.' 

I  couldn't  think  what  it  meant  at  first.  Then  I  saw  your 
light,  and  knew  you  were  back  ;  and  I  was  seized  with 
the  impulse  to  come  and  explore.  '  But  if  he  should 
catch  me  ?'  I  said  to  my  ancestor,  and  again  the  answer 
came  to  me  in  myself  : 

"  'There  is  a  power  whose  care 

Traces  thy  way  along  the  pathless  coast, 
The  desert,  and  illimitable  air, 
Lone  wand'ring,  but  not  lost.' 

Then  I  understood  it.  I  knew  it  would  be  all  right 
whether  you  caught  me  or  not.  And  you  see  it  is." 

Cadenhouse  was  considering  her  very  gravely. 

"  Do  you  often  seek  that  sort  of  guidance  ?"  he  asked. 

"Always,"  she  said.  "  It  doesn't  always  come  to  me, 
but  when  it  does,  it's  sure  to  be  right.  And  I  act  on  it." 

She  looked  at  him,  and,  seeing  him  so  solemn,  laugh- 
ed and  sang  irrelevantly  : 

"'Oh,  I'm  a  young  lady  you  can't  control, 
I  haven't  a  soul  !     I  haven't  a  soul.' 

You  say  I  have  a  beautiful  voice,"  she  broke  off.  "  I  as- 
sure you  I  have  a  beautiful  appetite  also.  I've  had  noth- 
ing to  eat  for  hours." 

"  I  suppose  your  mother  sent  you  supperless  to  bed  to 
punish  you  for  some  outrageous  act  of  insubordina- 
tion ?"  said  Cadenhouse,  dryly. 

58 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  No,  I  went  supperless  to  bed  to  punish  my  mother  for 
an  outrageous  act  of  insubordination.  But  I  can't  go 
into  that  now — I'm  famishing.  Do  get  me  something 
to  eat !" 

"  But  I  haven't  a  scrap  of  anything  here." 

"  How  disappointing  !"  said  Babs.  "  Can't  you  get 
something  ?" 

Cadenhouse  reflected. 

"  I  don't  want  to  encourage  you/'  he  said,  hesitating. 

"  That  is  to  say,  you  want  to  discourage  me,"  said 
Babs."  That  isn't  possible,  so  don't  waste  strength  in 
the  effort.  Cadenhouse,  do  get  me  something  to  eat  !" 

She  was  leaning  back  in  the  old  oak  chair  again.  He 
looked  at  her.  She  was  pale ;  she  had  evidently  fasted 
too  long. 

"  If  I  get  you  something  to  eat,"  he  said,  "  will  you 
promise  me  to  curb  your  curiosity  for  the  future,  and 
never  let  it  lead  you  into  an  escapade  of  this  kind 
again  ?" 

"  I  promise  you  solemnly,"  said  Babs,  and  shut  her 
eyes. 

Cadenhouse  hurried  out  of  the  apartment,  but  locked 
the  door  after  him. 

"  Well,  that  is  mean,"  said  Babs. 

She  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  about  her,  but  she  did 
not  move.  She  knew  he  would  not  have  trusted  her 
there  alone  had  there  been  anything  interesting  to  be 
rummaged  out. 

Cadenhouse  was  absent  a  considerable  time.  He  re- 
turned with  a  basketful  of  things. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  haven't  much  to  offer  you,"  he  said. 

"  Oh  !"  said  Babs,  keenly  disappointed.  "  I  thought 
you'd  have  such  good  things  here.  I  often  used  to  think 
when  I  saw  your  light — I  can  see  it  from  my  bedroom 
window — I  used  to  wonder  what  you  were  eating,  and 
want  some." 

59 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Then  you  used  always  to  think  of  me  as  eating  here 
alone  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Babs ;  "  I  could  think  of  nothing  more 
interesting.  But  I  was  younger  then.  It  was  before 
you  went  away." 

Cadenhouse  had  drawn  up  a  table  in  front  of  her,  and 
was  covering  it  with  the  contents  of  the  basket. 

"  What  do  you  give  me  the  credit  of  doing  now  ?"  he 
asked. 

"  I've  not  had  time  to  give  you  any  credit  yet,"  Babs 
answered.  "  You've  only  just  returned.  But  I  should 
certainly  have  expected  you  to  be  having  some  sort  of  a 
good  time."  She  surveyed  the  table.  "  You  needn't 
have  apologized  for  the  viands,"  she  assured  him.  "  Your 
flesh-pots  are  ample.  I'll  begin  with  the  prawns.  Glory ! 
what  a  delight  it  is  to  eat  good  things  !" 

"  Babs,  I  am  afraid  your  soul  is  not  above — " 

"  Victuals  ?"  she  broke  in.  "  I  should  think  not !  You 
can  be  cutting  me  some  chicken  and  tongue." 

He  obeyed  mechanically. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  they  say  about  me,"  she  rattled  on. 
"  They  say  I  never  know  what  I  want,  and  I've  got  no 
soul — and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  don't  you  know." 

*  Indeed,"  Cadenhouse  answered,  absently  helping 
himself. 

"  I'm  glad  you're  going  to  eat  something,"  she  inter- 
jected. "  It's  more  sociable.  I  shall  be  able  to  eat  twice 
as  much  now  you've  begun.  Try  the  prawns.  But  I 
was  telling  you — it's  astonishing  what  a  lot  I  have  to 
tell  you — I  believe  I  could  go  on  talking  to  you  all  night. 
I  like  to  look  at  you,  too.  You  are  nice  to  look  at !  Do 
you  think  you  would  like  me  if  I  had  a  soul  ?  I  suppose 
I  have  no  soul,"  she  added,  somewhat  wistfully,  "  since 
everybody  says  so,  and  what  everybody  says  must  be 
true.  But  if  it  were  a  grudging  deity  made  me,  and 
didn't  dole  me  out  a  soul,  it  isn't  my  fault." 

60 


BABS      THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  I'm  not  blaming  you/'  said  Cadenhouse. 

"  Well,  that  is  unexpected  !"  she  ejaculated.  "  But 
perhaps  I  shouldn't  mind  not  having  a  soul,  in  view  of 
the  digestion  I've  got.  I'm  grateful  for  that.  You 
can't  have  everything,  and  I've  heard  that  in  this  world 
we  should  all  do  better  if  we  prayed  for  sound  digestions 
and  let  our  souls  alone.  What  have  you  brought  me  to 
drink?  Nothing?  Well!" 

"  What  will  you  have  ?"  Cadenhouse  asked,  apologeti- 
cally. "  Milk  ?" 

Babs  looked  scornful. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  she  said,  with  a  grimace.  "  Give 
me  something  fizzy." 

He  went  to  a  cupboard  and  took  out  some  lemons  and 
soda-water. 

"  I'll  make  you  some  lemonade,"  he  said. 

"  Good !"  she  answered,  to  his  relief.  He  was  dreading 
a  demand  for  champagne. 

"  The  next  time  I  come — "  she  was  beginning,  but  he 
interrupted  her. 

"  You  are  not  coming  again,"  he  said,  decidedly.  "  Re- 
member your  promise." 

"  What  promise  ?"  she  asked,  raising  her  innocent 
eyebrows. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  have  forgotten  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  I've  forgotten,"  she  answered — "  if  it  were 
anything  you  wrung  from  me  in  a  cowardly  way  when 
I  was  suffering  under  the  cruel  pressure  of  hunger." 

"  I  thought  better  of  you,  Babs,"  he  said,  reproachfully. 

"  I've  quite  done  now,"  she  responded,  cheerfully,  get- 
ting up  and  shaking  the  crumbs  from  her  knees  ;  "  and 
I've  had  a  real  good  time.  You're  going  to  see  me  home, 
aren't  you  ?" 

Cadenhouse  was  not  quick  of  speech.  His  mind  did 
not  skip  readily  from  one  subject  to  another,  and  as  he 
found  no  form  in  which  to  express  what  he  had  in  it  at 

61 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

that  moment,  he  held  his  peace.  He  proceeded  to  wrap 
Babs  up  in  her  cloak,  and  as  he  buttoned  it  under  her 
upturned  chin  he  was  again  struck  by  the  peculiar 
charm  of  her  face,  its  angelic  expression.  Was  it  pos- 
sible that  appearance  and  character  could  be  so  much  at 
variance  as  hers  apparently  were  ? 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  regret  this  good  time  when  the 
day  of  reckoning  comes  to-morrow,"  he  said,  grimly. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  she  demanded. 

"  I  mean  that  I  must  tell  your  mother  of  this  visit." 

"  You  won't  do  that  ?"  she  exclaimed. 

"  I  must,"  he  answered,  firmly. 

"  Well,  that  would  be  mean — telling  tales  !"  she  cried. 
"And  it  wouldn't  be  a  bit  of  use,  either — I  should  swear 
you  were  lying.  I  would,  Cadenhouse — I  would,  indeed." 

"  Don't  talk  in  that  reckless  way,"  said  Cadenhouse, 
seriously.  "  You  know  you  would  not  lie." 

"  Yes,  I  would,"  said  Babs,  positively.  "  But  that 
would  not  save  mamma.  Once  you  put  that  idea  into 
her  head  she'll  never  have  another  hour's  quiet  sleep  at 
night  if  I'm  out  of  her  sight.  And  she  can't  be  watching 
me  always." 

This  consideration  weighed  with  Cadenhouse. 

"  But  look  here,  Babs,"  he  said,  very  gravely.  "  You 
have  your  own  good  name  to  consider.  If  you  do  things 
like  this,  what  will  people  think  of  you  ?" 

"  What !  You  think  my  good  name  will  suffer  be- 
cause I  came  to  see  this  place  of  yours — and  you  the 
most  respectable  gentleman  in  the  neighborhood  ?" 

"  But  consider  the  time  of  night,  my  dear  child." 

"  Oh,  Cadenhouse,  for  shame  !"  said  Babs.  "  You 
don't  mean  to  insinuate  that  a  gentleman  is  less  of  a 
gentleman  at  midnight  than  at  mid-day  ?" 

"  That  is  what  is  popularly  supposed,"  said  Caden- 
house, grimly. 

"  Well,  I  can't  help  that,"  said  Babs,  drawing  her 

62 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

cloak  round  her  and  throwing  the  end  of  it  over  her 
shoulder.  "  It  isn't  true  in  your  case,  and  I  mean  to 
regulate  my  life  by  what  is  true." 

"  I  hope  that  is  true,  at  all  events/'  Cadenhouse  com- 
mented. 

"  Oh  yes,  that's  true,"  she  rejoined.  "  But  come  to- 
morrow, and  let  me  tell  you — and  you  tell  me." 

"  What  ?" 

"  Oh,  don't  you  know  ?  Well,  never  mind.  Just  drop 
in  casually  for  luncheon  at  half-past  one.  Mamma  will 
be  delighted  to  see  you.  And  I  shall  be  able  to  ask  you 
heaps  of  things.  You  ought  to  come  and  inquire,  in  any 
case;  it's  only  polite.  Why,  I  may  be  ill  to-morrow 
after  all  this  fatigue." 

Cadenhouse  looked  at  her  thoughtfully  and  sighed. 
Babs  was  a  fascinating  imp,  but  quite  impossible. 

He  took  up  a  lamp  and  led  the  way  down  the  stone 
steps.  Below,  on  the  ground  floor,  they  found  them- 
selves in  what  looked  like  the  crypt  of  a  church.  There 
were  no  windows,  only  slits  in  the  solid  masonry  that  let 
in  the  cool  air  from  outside.  The  groined  roof  was  sup- 
ported by  short,  massive  pillars,  which  evidently  bore  a 
great  part  of  the  weight  of  the  whole  edifice.  There 
were  two  heavy  oak  doors,  iron  clamped,  one  large,  one 
small.  The  larger  door  was  the  main  entrance  to  the 
tower  ;  the  smaller  one,  which  was  low  and  narrow, 
opened  into  the  underground  passage  which  Caden- 
house used  in  order  to  go  backward  and  forward  to  the 
house.  Both  doors  were  securely  fastened  on  the  in- 
side. The  larger  one  had  evidently  not  been  opened  for 
a  considerable  time,  to  judge  by  the  cobwebs  which  fes- 
tooned it ;  the  key  of  the  smaller  one  had  not  been  out 
of  Cadenhouse's  possession  since  his  return. 

"  Babs,"  he  said,  sternly,  "  how  did  you  get  in  ?" 

"  Cadenhouse,"  she  answered,  in  imitation  of  his  stern- 
ness, raising  her  hand  and  pointing  upward  dramati- 

63 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

cally  as  she  spoke — "  Cadenhouse,  what  are  you  always 
doing  up  there  alone  ?" 

Cadenhouse  closed  his  mouth  obstinately. 

It  was  a  deadlock.     There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to 
tell,  or  to  go  unanswered. 

Cadenhouse  went  unanswered. 

64 


CHAPTER     VII 

THE   next  day,  in  the  afternoon,  Montacute  and 
Babs  stood  on  the  steps,  seeing  their  mother  off 
for    her  afternoon  drive.     Julia    accompanied 
her  that  day.     Babs  had  a  switch  in  her  hand. 
Her  eyes  were  unusually  wide  open,  her  cheeks  were 
somewhat  pale.     Her  attention  continually  wandered  to 
something  away  in  the  distance.     She  had  been  in  a 
restless  state  of  expectation  all  the  morning,  but  now  she 
was  reckless.     Cadenhouse  had  not  put  in  an  appear- 
ance. 

The  weather  had  cleared,  but  the  ground  was  still 
soaking  from  the  heavy  rains  of  the  previous  day. 

"  What  are  you  children  going  to  do  ?"  Mrs.  Kingcon- 
stance  asked,  as  she  settled  herself  comfortably  in  the 
carriage. 

Montacute  looked  at  Babs ;  Babs  looked  up  at  the 
sky. 

"  It  would  be  a  nice  day  for  a  walk,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  keep  to  the  high-road,  where  the  foot-paths 
are  dry,  like  good  children,"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  said. 
"  Babs,  you  will  only  go  where  it's  dry  ?"  she  added, 
anxiously.  "  Promise  me." 

But  Babs  ran  lightly  down  the  steps  when  her  mother 
began  to  make  terms,  and  the  next  instant  the  horses 
plunged  so  violently  that  Mrs.  Kingconstance  was  jerk- 
ed back  on  her  cushions. 

"  Oh,  don't  wait  if  they're  going  to  be  restive,"  she 
called  to  the  coachman,  nervously. 
E  65 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

The  carriage  dashed  down  the  drive.  The  coachman 
and  footman  looked  out  of  the  corners  of  their  eyes  at 
each  other  knowingly  and  grinned. 

Babs  swung  the  stick  round  her  head  till  it  sang 
through  the  air. 

"  Good  switch  !"  she  said.  "Another  minute,  and  we 
should  have  been  bound  to  take  a  prim  walk.  Parents 
are  so  unreasonable  I  Look  at  those  horses — they're 
still  capering." 

"  You  might  have  upset  the  carriage,"  said  Montacute. 

"  Yes,"  said  Babs,  unconcernedly  ;  "  and  how  funny 
they'd  all  have  looked — especially  mamma,  sprawling 
among  the  cushions  on  the  ground.  Let's  go  to  Wylde- 
holme,  Cute,  by  the  fields." 

"All  right,"  he  answered,  but  dubiously.  He  had  a 
book  under  his  arm,  and  would  rather  have  been  left 
alone  to  read  it. 

"  Come,  then,  quick,"  said  Babs,  "  before  somebody 
else  pounces  upon  us  and  tries  to  stop  us.  We'll  have 
tea  with  old  Grimwood.  What  do  you  want  with  that 
horrid  book  ?"  She  snatched  it  from  him  and  threw  it 
down  on  a  seat  in  the  portico.  "  I  can't  understand  peo- 
ple who  bother  with  books  when  there  is  all  that  " — she 
waved  her  hands  to  the  wide  world — "  and  the  sun  is 
shining."  She  caught  his  hand  and  dragged  him  down 
the  steps. 

"  Perhaps  if  you'd  any  use  for  books  you'd  like  them," 
he  retorted,  yielding  to  her  imperious  will,  but  reluc- 
tantly. 

"Thank  Heaven,  I  haven't!"  Babs  answered,  cheer- 
fully. "  There  are  plenty  of  book-fools  in  the  family 
without  me.  The  one  among  us  who'd  be  distinguished 
would  be  the  one  with  some  common-sense,  and  that's 
what  I  mean  to  cultivate.  You  can  do  the  poet,  and 
mamma  can  do  the  dignified  matron,  and  Julia  the  social 
aspirant,  and  Aunt  Lorraine — poor  Aunt  Lorraine,"  she 

66 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

broke  off,  compassionately.  "  Cute,  they  say  there's 
something  wanting  about  Aunt  Lorraine.  What  do  you 
think  it  is  ?  She's  clever,  you  know  ;  she  can  do  such 
a  lot  of  things — draw,  paint,  play,  sing — anything  she 
likes.  What  can  be  wrong  ?" 

"  Wants  balance,"  said  Cute,  sententiously. 

"Ah,  that's  too  hard  for  me,"  said  Babs,  upon  reflec- 
tion. "  I  should  have  to  think  about  ever  so  many  more 
things  in  order  to  explain  it  to  myself — what  is  '  bal- 
ance/ you  know,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  Too  much 
trouble ;  I  don't  want  to  think — I  want  to  feel.  Oh-h-h !" 
— she  drew  in  a  long  breath  of  pleasure — "  but  the  air 
is  sweet !" 

"  They  say  you're  wanting,  too,  Babs,"  said  Cute. 
"  They  say  you're  a  soulless  little  animal." 

"  I  know,"  said  Babs,  with  a  gratified  smile.  "  But 
what  do  I  want  with  a  soul  ?  I  seem  to  be  able  to  get  on 
without  one.  I'm  never  ill ;  I  can't  say  I'm  never  un- 
happy ;  but  I  do  have  good  times  !  If  you  knew  I" 

She  hugged  herself  on  the  recollection  of  her  last 
night's  exploits.  She  did  not  take  her  brother  into  her 
confidence,  however.  She  followed  her  favorite  pur- 
suits alone,  and  lost  interest  in  them  if  she  ever  discussed 
them.  In  all  that  concerned  her  intimate  sensations  she 
was  secretive. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  get  on  all  right  without  a  soul,"  she  pur- 
sued ;  "  but  Aunt  Lorraine  doesn't  seem  to  be  able  to 
get  on  without  balance  —  whatever  that  may  be. 
Don't  let  us  think,  though.  Let  us  have  a  good 
time." 

They  had  scampered  across  the  lawn  in  front  of  the 
house  and  down  the  long  avenue  to  the  left,  which  ended 
in  an  iron  gate.  The  gate  was  locked,  but  Lorraine,  for- 
getful, as  usual,  of  her  petticoats,  bundled  herself  over 
it,  and  set  off  again,  helter-skelter,  across  the  park,  fol- 
lowed by  Cute  as  hard  as  he  could  tear.  Soppy  tufts  of 

67 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

grass  much  impeded  their  progress.  Babs  tripped,  but 
took  it  as  a  matter  of  course  that  she  should  come  down 
occasionally. 

"  There  goes  another  gown !"  she  remarked. 

"  You'd  not  be  so  casual  if  you  had  to  buy  them,"  he 
grumped. 

*  Why  not  ?"  she  demanded.     "  It's  good  for  trade." 

"  What  do  you  know  about  trade  ?" 

"  Nothing,  except  that  it's  nasty  to  be  in  it  and  nice  to 
encourage  it.  That's  another  thing  that  I  should  want 
to  have  explained  to  me  if  I  were  stupid  enough  to  be 
clever." 

They  were  out  of  sight  of  the  house  by  this  time.  Babs 
slackened  her  speed,  and  began  to  look  about  her.  It 
was  a  lovely  day.  Spring  had  set  in.  There  was 
warmth  in  the  sunshine.  The  sap  was  stirring  in  the 
trees,  and  bourgeoning  buds  proclaimed  it.  A  lowing 
of  herds  and  bleating  of  sheep  was  in  the  air,  and  the 
birds  were  preparing  their  songs  for  the  summer.  Over- 
head, the  sky  was  magnificent.  Great  bright  masses  of 
snowy  cloud  sailed  majestically  over  infinite  depths  of 
blue. 

Babs  looked  up  in  awe  and  admiration  ;  but  her  fickle 
interest  was  not  to  be  held  in  long  by  the  heavens,  when 
on  earth  there  were  deer  in  the  distance  and  pheasants 
peeping  from  the  coverts  near  at  hand. 

The  park  sloped  at  this  point  with  a  gradual  descent 
down  to  a  rivulet  which  divided  the  Dane  Court  property 
from  Wyldeholme.  In  summer  it  was  always  a  merry 
stream,  brisk  and  babbling,  but  now  it  had  acquired  the 
dignity  of  depth  from  the  recent  rains,  and  moved  with 
a  solemn  murmur,  neither  laughing  nor  complaining. 
On  the  other  side  the  ground  ascended  somewhat  steep- 
ly. The  stream  had  to  be  crossed  on  stepping-stones, 
and  these  were  covered  now  with  an  inch  or  two  of 
water.  But  water  was  no  impediment  to  Babs.  In  she 

68 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

splashed,  followed  by  her  brother,  and  both  landed,  drip- 
ping, on  the  other  side. 

They  climbed  the  hill,  and  paused  a  moment  when 
they  reached  the  top  to  look  about  them.  The  country 
all  round  was  rich  in  wood  and  water,  in  upland,  meadow, 
and  arable  lands. 

"  Babs,"  said  Montacute,  "  how  jolly  it  would  be  if 
Wyldeholme  were  yours  1  Just  fancy  what  fun  we 
could  have  when  I  come  into  Dane  Court !  We  might 
make  a  tunnel  through — a  secret  tunnel  from  one  house 
to  the  other — and  learn  black  magic  and  frighten  the 
folk." 

He  looked  back  the  way  they  had  come.  All  the  love- 
ly lands  that  lay  behind  them  were  his,  but  his  pale  face 
took  on  an  extra  tinge  of  melancholy  as  he  surveyed  the 
prospect. 

"  The  place  won't  be  much  to  me  if  you  aren't  there," 
he  said,  "  or  at  all  events  near  at  hand." 

"  I  shouldn't  have  thought  you'd  care  to  have  me  any- 
where in  the  neighborhood,  judging  from  the  way  you've 
been  snapping  at  me  ever  since  we  set  out,"  Babs  re- 
marked, in  a  casual  way.  "You're  irritable  to-day, 
Cute ;  that's  what's  the  matter  with  you." 

"  Yes,  I  am  irritable,"  he  confessed,  in  a  like  easy  tone. 
"  I  have  little  enough  body,  but  I've  no  nerves.  I'm  the 
mistake  of  the  family.  You  and  Julia  are  splendid." 

"  You're  no  mistake,"  said  Babs,  consolatrix.  "  Think 
of  the  head  you  have  !  Why,  Mr.  Bruce  says  it's  non- 
sense to  talk  of  teaching  you  !  The  difficulty  is  to  keep 
up  with  you,  you  learn  at  such  a  rate.  And  what  you 
want  is  head,  with  such  estates  to  manage.  It  doesn't 
matter  for  us;  we'll  have  our  husbands  to  do  all  the 
drudgery  for  us.  Not  but  what  Julia  is  clever.  She 
has  a  mind  of  her  own,  but  it  isn't  like  yours.  Your 
mind  is  like  your  land,  capable  of  producing  all  kinds  of 
crops  ;  Julia's  is  just  a  nice  little  patch  of  garden  ground, 

69 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

which  she  will  cultivate  to  the  uttermost,  and  get  all  she 
can  out  of  it.  You'll  see.  She'll  fill  it  with  flowers — all 
the  pretty-pretties.  It  will  be  a  regular  show-place, 
Julia's  mind,  when  she's  a  woman.  All  she  has  in  it 
will  be  always  on  view.  I  wonder  what  we  shall  all  be 
doing  when  you  come  of  age  !  I  suppose  mamma  will 
go  to  dear  London,  and  take  Julia  with  her  ;  but  I  wish 
she  wouldn't.  I  hate  all  change  ;  and  I  wish  we  could 
live  here  always,  all  four  together,  just  like  this." 

"  Including  Julia  ?" 

"  Why  not  ?  I  suppose  we  must  all  separate  sooner 
or  later,  but  I  shall  hate  it  when  the  time  comes.  I 
know  I  squabble  with  Julia,  but  I  like  to  have  her  about 
all  the  same,  even  if  it's  only  to  squabble  with.  She's 
my  only  sister,  you  see." 

"  The  less  excuse  for  her,"  said  Cute.  "  I  don't  look 
forward  to  having  her  at  Dane  Court  all  her  life  at  all. 
I  hope  she'll  marry  and  be  happy  elsewhere." 

"  I  shall  hate  it  when  she  does,"  Babs  reiterated. 

"  As  long  as  you're  together  she'll  always  be  playing 
you  nasty  tricks,  as  she  did  yesterday  about  those  vio- 
lets— taking  the  credit  you  deserve ;  and  you'll  always 
be  shrugging  your  shoulders  and  saying  it  doesn't  mat- 
ter, I  suppose." 

"  Very  likely/'  said  Babs,  indifferently.  "  Let's  get 
on." 

She  led  the  way  once  more,  stumbling  along  impetu- 
ously, down  a  narrow,  rough,  winding  path,  through 
thick  plantations  which  blocked  their  view,  until  they 
came  in  sight  of  the  beautiful  old  manor  of  Wyldeholme, 
nestling  in  a  hollow  just  below.  The  house  was  shel- 
tered by  great  trees,  and  surrounded  by  large  gardens, 
terraced  to  the  south,  but  laid  out  on  the  other  side  in 
long  borders,  where  old-fashioned  flowers  flourished,  and 
in  mossy  lawns,  broken  by  close-clipped  hedges  of  holly 
and  box  and  yew,  and  shrubberies,  ever  green — a  lovely 

70 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

spot,  but  of  melancholy  beauty.  It  was  in  vain  that  the 
brightest  flowers  bloomed  there  in  their  seasons.  The 
place  did  not  take  its  tone  from  the  flowers,  but  from  the 
junipers  with  bleeding  berries,  the  dark  Scotch  firs,  larch, 
deodora,  Wellingtonia,  and  yew.  It  was  one  of  those 
places  upon  which  the  past  is  forever  brooding.  The 
past  got  hold  of  you  when  you  wandered  there  alone, 
and  lay  in  wait  for  you  at  every  turn,  so  that  you  were 
always  asking  of  it,  "  What  happened  here  ?"  And  it 
would  have  surprised  you  more  to  meet  a  modern  girl  in 
a  sailor  hat  in  a  sheltered  alley  than  a  lady  from  out  of 
the  long  ago,  strutting  on  high  heels,  in  stiff  brocade, 
and  powder  and  patches. 

The  path  through  the  plantation  brought  the  children 
to  a  little  gate  which  gave  on  a  green  lawn  at  one  end 
of  the  house.  Here,  at  either  corner,  there  were  deep  bay- 
windows,  opening  on  to  stone  steps  which  descended  to 
the  garden.  Between  the  two  bay-windows  was  a  broad 
veranda  with  a  marble  bulustrade.  The  rooms  off  the 
veranda  were  shut  up  now,  as  also  was  the  bay-window 
on  the  right ;  but  that  on  the  left  was  wide  open,  and  the 
blinds  were  drawn  up. 

"  Hurrah  !"  said  Babs.  "  We're  in  luck.  G  rim's  air- 
ing the  boudoir.  Aren't  we  in  a  pickle,  Mrs  Grim  ?"  she 
demanded,  running  up  the  steps  and  appearing  sudden- 
ly before  the  startled  housekeeper. 

"  Gracious  goodness,  miss  1"  the  old  lady  exclaimed, 
turning  from  the  cabinet  she  was  dusting — "  both  of 
you  !  Pickle,  indeed  !  I  never  saw  a  young  lady  and 
gentleman  in  such  a  mess  in  all  my  born  days.  How- 
ever you've  managed  it,  I  can't  think.  Miss  Lorraine, 
you're  a  big  girl  now.  You  did  ought  to  know  better — 
you  really  did." 

"  Look  here,  Mrs.  Grim,"  said  Babs,  "  if  you  begin  to 
scold,  I  shall  do  some  damage  to  the  place.  It's  quite 
enough  to  have  them  going  gray  at  Dane  Court  over  my 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

dirty  dress.  I've  come  here  for  a  change — for  tea  and 
jocularity.  Please  be  kind.  You've  no  idea  how  much 
nicer  you  look  when  you're  pleasant." 

Mrs.  Grimwood  made  an  ineffectual  effort  to  be  severe. 
Plump  and  pleasant  and  kindly  were  the  characteristics 
of  her  appearance,  and  there  was  an  air  of  affluence  about 
her  even  when,  as  on  this  occasion,  she  was  only  wear- 
ing her  second-best  black  silk — an  atmosphere  of  com- 
fort, into  which  all  were  absorbed  who  approached  her. 

"  Why  do  you  always  do  this  room  yourself  ?"  Cute 
asked. 

"  It's  Mr.  Jeffrey's  wish,  sir." 

"  Because  of  his  mother  ?" 

The  housekeeper  nodded. 

"  My  mother  says,"  Cute  pursued, "  that  Lady  Blanche 
Wylde  was  one  of  the  loveliest  and  most  unhappy  women 
she  ever  knew — her  husband  was  such  a  brute ;  and 
mamma  always  speaks  of  '  that  poor  boy  Jeffrey  '  as  if 
he'd  been  awfully  bullied  at  home." 

"  I  don't  suppose  he  deserves  to  be  pitied,"  said  Babs. 
"  He's  sure  to  take  after  his  father," 

"  I  don't  see  that,"  Cute  argued.  "  Boys  generally 
take  after  their  mothers." 

"  Do  they,  Grim  ?"  Babs  demanded. 

"  Some  does,  and  some  does  not,"  was  the  cautious 
rejoinder.  "  I  knew  a  young  gentleman — " 

"  Oh,  I  say,"  Cute  broke  in,  impatiently,  "  haven't  you 
nearly  done  with  this  tiresome  dusting  ?  I'm  famishing 
for  something  to  eat." 

"  Then  you  must  have  something  at  once,  I  suppose," 
Mrs.  Grimwood  answered  resignedly,  shaking  the  duster 
out  of  the  window,  and  leading  the  way  to  her  own  room. 

There  Cute  threw  himself  into  a  big  arm-chair,  and 
lay  back  with  his  legs  dangling,  looking  singularly 
quaint  and  old. 

u  When  do  you  expect  long-legged  Jeffrey  ?"  he  asked. 

72 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  How  do  you  know  his  legs  are  long  ?"  Babs  broke  in. 

"  Shure,  thin,  don't  I  remimber  him,  honey  ?"  Cute 
rejoined. 

"  He  doesn't  speak  a  bit  like  that,"  Babs  snapped  ; 
"  and  I  don't  remember  him." 

"  Naturally  not,  you  goose  ;  you  were  in  your  cradle." 

"  Hush,  children,"  said  Mrs.  Grimwood.  "  You  mustn't 
gird  at  each  other  like  that." 

"  Bless  you  !  we're  not  girding,"  said  Babs.  "  It's  only 
our  playful  way.  We  raise  our  voices  to  reach  each 
other's  understanding.  But  I  say,  Grim,  do  tell  me,  has 
Jeffrey  got  long  legs  ?" 

"  As  fine  as  any  in  the  county  when  he  left,"  said  Mrs. 
Grimwood  from  amid  her  preparations  for  tea ;  "  but 
not  exactly  long — nor  short,  neither.  Just  right,  you 
know.  He  was  twenty-one  when  he  went,  and  that's 
seven  years  since.  Dear,  dear,  how  time  does  go  !  He's 
travelled  most  everywhere  by  now ;  but  he'll  soon  be 
back,  I  trust,  please  God." 

"  I  hope  he'll  never  come,"  said  Babs.  "  It'll  make  a 
change  when  he  comes,  and  I  hate  changes.  Besides, 
I'm  sure  he's  a  beast  like  his  father,  and  he'll  shut  up 
the  grounds  and  make  himself  disagreeable  in  every  pos- 
sible way." 

"  Don't  you  say  such  a  thing,  Miss  Babs,"  Mrs.  Grim- 
wood  remonstrated.  "  You  don't  know  nothing  of  the 
kind,  and  you've  no  call  to  say  it  if  you  did." 

Babs  laughed. 

"  I've  a  great  mind  to  take  off  my  shoes  and  stockings 
and  dry  them,"  Cute  said,  suddenly,  after  a  pause. 

Mrs.  Grimwood  pricked  up  her  ears. 

"  Are  they  wet  ?"  she  asked. 

He  stretched  out  a  leg  for  her  to  feel. 

"  Miss  Lorraine,"  she  said,  solemnly,  "  you  should 
know  better." 

"  Oh,  of  course  !"  Babs  retorted.  "  Make  me  my  broth- 

73 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

er's  keeper  !  Everybody  expects  me  to  pick  his  steps  for 
him — because  I'm  younger,  and  stupider,  and  more 
thoughtless,  I  suppose." 

She  had  grown  very  red,  and  round  the  rims  of  her 
angelic  blue  eyes  something  shone  suspiciously. 

"  It's  all  right,  Babs,"  Montacute  assured  her.  "  Don't 
you  fret.  It's  better  to  have  a  lot  expected  of  you  for  be- 
ing big  than  to  be  set  down  for  a  silly  who  can't  take 
care  of  himself,  like  me,  because  I'm  small." 

"  Here,  take  your  teas,  children,"  Mrs.  Grimwood  put 
in.  "  There  is  no  harm  done,  so  stop  disputing.  I'll 
send  you  back  in  the  dog-cart  when  Mr.  Montacute's 
shoes  and  socks  are  dry.  Sit  here,  sir,  with  your  feet 
to  the  fire  while  you  wait,  and  I'll  put  your  tea  beside 
you." 

Then  Babs  fell  to,  and  having  imperilled  the  precari- 
ous health  of  her  beloved  brother  by  dragging  him  after 
her  through  mud  and  water,  she  proceeded,  for  the  relief 
of  her  own  feelings,  and  in  proof  of  her  concern,  to  en- 
danger -his  safety  still  further  by  forcing  upon  him 
quantities  of  the  most  unwholesome  things  on  the  table. 

74 


CHAPTER    VIII 

JULIA  and  her  mother  had  been  to  see  Miss  Spice 
that  afternoon,  and  had  found  her  all  in  a  twitter 
of  pleasurable  excitement.     It  had  been  a  day  of 
days  to  Miss  Spice,  such  a  one  as  had  never  come 
to  her  before.     In  the  morning  Mr.  Jelly  bond  Tinney 
had  paid  his  promised  visit.     Miss  Spice  had  been  awake 
the  greater  part  of  the  night,  living  over  and  over  again 
the  delightful  circumstances  of  their  meeting  in  the  after- 
noon— recalling  her  first  glimpse  of  him  in  the  distance, 
her  first  impression  of  his  importance,  what  he  had  said 
and  she  had  said,  and  how  each  had  acted  from  be- 
ginning to  end.     She  had  related  the  whole  episode  in 
minute  detail  to  the  good  aunt  with  whom  she  lived,  Mrs. 
Sophia  Pepper,  when  they  were  at  tea ;  but  Mrs.  Sophia 
Pepper  had  not  been  sympathetic. 

"  Some  bagman,  I  suppose,"  she  grumped ;  "  but,  at 
any  rate,  he'll  never  come  near  you,  my  dear  " — a  sin- 
ister prognostication  which  found  only  too  ready  an 
echo  in  poor,  dear,  humble  little  Miss  Spice's  diffident 
soul. 

All  the  same  she  was  up  at  daylight  and  had  turned 
out  the  drawing-room,  cleaned  it  thoroughly,  rearranged 
the  furniture  to  the  best  advantage,  decked  it  with  fra- 
grant violets,  fresh  culled  for  the  purpose,  and  carefully 
lowered  the  blinds  just  far  enough  to  make  a  pleasant 
shade  in  the  room  without  shutting  out  the  pretty 
glimpse  of  the  garden,  with  its  old  trees,  and  the  long, 
level  road  running  south.  Miss  Spice  had  always  ex- 

75 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

pected  the  knight  who  was  to  be  hers  to  come  to  her  by 
that  road  out  of  the  dim,  mysterious  distance.  She  had 
pictured  a  tired  horseman  dropping  with  fatigue  at  her 
gate,  to  whom  she  would  offer  hospitality  and  kind  care, 
with  the  inevitable  result.  But  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney 
must  come  by  the  road  on  the  right  from  the  village — if, 
indeed,  he  came  at  all. 

Miss  Spice  took  a  last  look  round  the  drawing-room. 
It  was  a  quaint  apartment,  narrow  for  its  length,  with 
nothing  in  it  that  was  not  old  and  elegant ;  but  Miss 
Spice's  heart  contracted  as  she  contemplated  it.  She 
did  not  appreciate  the  lovely  Chippendale  and  Sheraton 
with  which  it  was  furnished.  She  thought  those  things 
so  many  items  added  to  the  heavy  handicap  with  which 
she  had  started  in  life,  and  yearned  for  "  occasional 
chairs  "  and  chiffonniers,  and  all  the  other  monstrosi- 
ties in  the  cheap  tastelessness  of  the  period. 

They  kept  no  servant,  and  she  felt  that  this  fact  should 
be  concealed  at  the  present  juncture  until  it  could  be  ac- 
counted for  romantically,  so  as  to  divest  it  of  its  sordid- 
ness  and  lend  it  a  pathetic  interest.  But  who  was  to  open 
the  door  ?  A  fleeting  vision  of  Aunt  Sophia  playing  the 
part  of  housekeeper — which  she  might  have  done  to  per- 
fection, her  appearance  being  quite  in  keeping  with  the 
character — crossed  Miss  Spice's  mind,  but  was  instant- 
ly dismissed  for  a  generous  reason.  Little  Miss  Spice 
would  never  have  cast  her  dear  old  aunt  for  an  invidious 
part.  Therefore,  there  was  only  one  thing  to  be  done — 
set  the  hall  door  open,  go  up-stairs,  and  wait  till  he  ar- 
rived, and  then  come  running  down  just  in  time  to  go 
forward  unaffectedly  and  invite  him  in. 

Miss  Spice  retired  to  her  own  bedroom,  from  the  win- 
dow of  which  she  could  see  some  little  distance  down  the 
road  to  the  right.  She  was  prepared  to  wait  a  weary 
while,  but  she  had  scarcely  taken  her  stand  before  she 
saw  the  sun  glint  on  the  glossy  surface  of  a  silk  hat. 

76^ 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

Without  waiting  to  see  more,  she  rushed  down-stairs  into 
the  kitchen. 

"  He's  coming,  aunt,  he's  coming  !"  she  cried,  breath- 
lessly. "Come,  quick,  up  to  my  room,  and  you'll  see 
him !" 

She  ran  back,  and  Mrs.  Sophia  Pepper  put  down  the 
cup  she  was  drying  and  followed  her,  wiping  her  hands 
on  the  tea-cloth  as  she  went.  She  was  nearly  as  much 
excited  as  Miss  Spice. 

Mr.  Jellybond  approached  with  a  leisurely  tread.  He 
seemed  to  be  enjoying  the  sunshine  and  the  landscape. 
There  was  approval  enough  in  his  every  glance  to  have 
encouraged  the  earth.  He  saw  the  two  eager  faces  at 
the  little  lattice  window,  but  no  one  would  have  sus- 
pected it. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  him,  aunt  ?"  Miss  Spice  de- 
manded, in  a  whisper. 

"  He's  a  fine  man,"  the  old  lady  owned,  ungrudgingly, 
thawed,  even  at  her  age,  out  of  her  habitual  cantanker- 
ousness  by  the  unwonted  and  stimulating  sight. 

Miss  Spice  swept  down  the  stairs  into  the  hall,  as  she 
expressed  it  to  herself,  and  met  him  at  the  door.  The 
little  manoeuvre  answered  admirably. 

When  they  were  seated  in  the  drawing-room,  Mr.  Jel- 
lybond Tinney  looked  about  him  with  approval. 

"  Violets,"  he  remarked.  "  How  fragrant !  I  always 
think  there  is  no  scent  so  perfect  for  a  lady's  room.  Roses 
are  sweet,  but  their  perfume  is  more  blatant  than  that  of 
the  violet,  if  you  know  what  I  mean.  May  I  make  a 
remark  ?" 

"  Certainly — with  pleasure,"  Miss  Spice  stammered, 
anxious  above  everything  to  be  agreeable,  and  tripping 
over  her  words  in  the  effort. 

"  Your  furniture,"  he  proceeded — "  Chippendale — 
Sheraton.  Preserved,  I  dare  say,  in  your  family  a  long 
time.  Probably  it  was  bought  from  the  makers." 

77 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  It  was — so  I've  been  told,"  said  Miss  Spice,  apolo- 
getically. "  My  father  and  mother  were  old-fashioned ; 
they  never  would  replace  it,  and  I  have  never  been  able 
to." 

"  I  congratulate  you,"  said  Mr.  Jellybond,  impressive- 
ly. "  Your  furniture  is  perfect ;  and  it  suits  you,  too, 
if  I  may  venture  to  say  so — it  suits  your  type.  These 
spindle-legs — how  graceful  1" 

"  Ye — yes,"  Miss  Spice  said,  dubiously ;  but  the  big 
man  blinked  blandly,  innocent  of  any  double  intention. 

"  If  you  should  ever  want  money,"  he  continued — 
"  which  Heaven  forbid  ! — but  if  you  should,  remember 
your  graceful  spindle-legs.  Collectors  would  give  you 
a  great  deal  for  them.  And  I  could  myself  play  the  part 
of  a  friend,  and  put  you  in  the  way  of  disposing  of  them 
to  the  best  advantage." 

"  You  are  too  kind,  I'm  sure,"  said  Miss  Spice,  look- 
ing round  at  the  room  in  a  bewildered  way. 

*  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney.  "  Let  us  be  friends. 
You  will  be  my  friend  now  for  a  moment,  and  play  a 
friend's  part  in  the  matter  of  the  introduction  you  prom- 
ised me." 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  Miss  Spice  jerked  out. 

"And  I  will  be  your  friend  forever." 

Miss  Spice  was  speechless,  but  she  bowed  her  thanks. 
Then  there  was  a  pause.  She  did  not  know  what  to  do 
next. 

"  I  really  feel  I  am  troubling  you,"  Mr.  Jellybond  said. 

"  Not  at  all,"  she  replied,  but  she  did  not  move. 

"  Perhaps  if  I  dictate  the  note,"  he  suggested,  in  des- 
peration, "  I  should  then  be  taking  my  share  of  the 
trouble." 

"  If  you  would  be  so  kind,"  said  Miss  Spice,  greatly 
relieved.  She  had  been  dreading  another  request  for 
the  visiting-card  she  did  not  possess. 

She  sat  down  at  the  writing-bureau,  and,  although  her 

78 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

hand  trembled  as  if  she  were  signing  the  marriage  reg- 
ister, she  managed  to  write  clearly,  as  follows,  to  Mr. 
Jelly  bond's  dictation  : 

"  DEAR  MR.  WORRINGHAM,— May  I  have  the  pleas- 
ure of  introducing  to  you  a  friend  of  mine,  Mr.  Jellybond 
Tinney  ?  He  has  been  a  traveller  in  his  time,  and  has 
done  and  seen  a  great  deal,  but  is  now  anxious  to  rest 
on  his  laurels,  and  he  would  like  very  much  to  take  a 
house  in  this  neighborhood  and  end  his  days  among  us 
in  peace.  I  am  sure  you  will  find  him  a  good,  sound 
Churchman,  an  excellent  parishioner,  and  one  ever  ready 
to  help  you  in  all  good  works.  I  may  mention  that  his 
means  are  ample. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  the  Swiss  Cottage  might  suit 
him,  but  I  have  advised  him  to  consult  you  about  it,  and, 
if  you  recommend  the  place,  I  will  ask  you  to  be  so  good 
as  to  give  him  an  introduction  to  Squire  Normanton  in 
order  to  facilitate  the  settlement  of  the  business. 

"  With  kind  regards  and  many  apologies  for  troubling 
you, 

"  Sincerely  yours, 

"ALICIA  SPICE." 

"Ah,"  said  Mr.  Jellybond,  glancing  at  the  note  before 
he  put  it  in  his  pocket,  "  thank  you.  This  will  bring  me 
good-luck  " — and  he  tapped  his  coat.  "  My  good  genius 
has  always  been  a  woman.  First  my  mother — but  I 
must  not  look  back ;  I  must  look  forward  now.  Hence- 
forth my  object  in  life  will  be  to  do  what  little  good  I  can, 
and  my  motto  is  '  Enjoy. '  I  mean  to  enjoy  as  I  go  along, 
and  help  others  to  enjoy.  I  may  say,  already,  that  I 
enjoy  everything  I  do — and  not  the  least  shall  I  enjoy 
coming  here,  when  I  am  invited,  to  visit  an  unsophisti- 
cated young  lady.  Unsophisticated,  my  dear  Miss 
Spice,"  he  announced,  as  he  rose  to  take  his  leave — "  un- 

79 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

sophisticated  means,  in  my  dictionary,  sweet  and  un- 
hackneyed." 

"  Oh  yes,  of  course.  To  be  sure — quite  so,"  said  Miss 
Spice. 

Mr.  Worringham  received  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  with 
the  kindliest  consideration,  and  fell  at  once  under  the 
dominion  of  his  strong  personality.  The  large  man 
filled  the  vicarage  with  a  new  atmosphere — a  well-fed, 
vitalizing  atmosphere,  charged  with  energy,  and  sug- 
gestive of  temporal  pleasures.  His  lat,  mellow  voice 
boomed  about  the  place,  his  whole  presence  was  stimu- 
lating, and  his  cheery  attitude  towards  the  world  and 
his  wife  had  the  effect  upon  Mr.  Worringham  of  a  sud- 
den increase  of  appetite.  Mr.  Jellybond  made  the  good 
vicar  feel  as  if  he  should  like  to  eat,  too,  and  live.  Mr. 
Worringham  in  his  study  was  surrounded  by  ecclesias- 
tical symbols,  and  was  himself  in  appearance  a  typical 
ecclesiastic  of  the  refined  ascetic  type.  He  was  not  a 
man  of  any  capacity,  or  he  would  not  have  been  left  by 
his  distinguished  family  to  vegetate  at  Danehurst,  but 
he  had  that  charm  which  is  independent  of  mental  ca- 
pacity, the  charm  of  simplicity  and  perfect  sincerity. 
These  were  at  once  his  strength  and  his  weakness — his 
strength  in  that  they  won  him  the  affection  and  respect 
of  his  people,  his  weakness  in  so  far  as  they  rendered  him 
liable  to  be  imposed  upon.  Charitable,  unsuspicious, 
incapable  of  evil,  either  in  thought,  word,  or  deed,  he 
might  have  done  well  in  heaven,  but  was  quite  unfit  for 
the  work  of  this  world.  He  had  not  got  much  beyond 
mediaeval  times  when  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  arrived  that 
morning,  and  he  had  been  feeling  mediaeval  too,  if  we 
may  judge  of  mediaeval  feelings  by  the  expression  of 
mediaeval  faces  in  the  pictures ;  but  before  Mr.  Jelty- 
bond  Tinney  had  been  with  him  half  an  hour,  he  had 
advanced  several  centuries  at  a  bound. 

80 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  So  you  are  an  old  friend  of  Miss  Spice's  ?"  he  said, 
when  he  had  read  the  note. 

"  Oh,  fie  !"  Mr.  Jellybond  answered.  "  One  never  calls 
a  lady  old." 

Mr.  Worringham  nodded  his  head  at  that,  and  smiled 
knowingly. 

"  Squire  Normanton — the  Swiss  Cottage,"  he  said, 
making  an  effort  to  reflect.  "  Why,  yes,  to  be  sure — de- 
lighted. Between  ourselves  " — he  lowered  his  voice  con- 
fidentially— "  he'll  be  very  glad  to  get  rid  of  it.  If  you'll 
come — I'm  just  going  out — I'll  show  you  the  place,  and 
then,  if  you  like,  we'll  go  on  and  see  the  squire.  Between 
ourselves  " — he  again  became  confidential — "  it's  very 
much  out  of  repair,  you  know,  and  he  hasn't  the  means 
— that's  the  difficulty  with  the  landed  gentry — no  ready 
money." 

As  they  walked  up  the  village  street  they  saw  two 
tall,  dark  ladies,  evidently  mother  and  daughter,  ap- 
proaching. Both  ladies  stared  at  Mr.  Jellybond  in 
a  startled  way,  as  though  there  were  something  un- 
expected in  his  appearance.  The  mother  called  a 
halt  by  stopping  dead  in  front  of  the  two  gentle- 
men. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Worringham  ?"  she  said,  in  a 
deep,  stern  voice. 

"  Oh !  Mrs.  Japp  !  How  do  you  do  ?  Miss  Florence, 
too  !"  the  vicar  exclaimed. 

"  I  am  well,"  said  Mrs.  Japp,  with  her  eye  on  Mr.  Jel- 
lybond. 

That  gentleman,  with  his  habitual  presence  of  mind, 
clicked  his  heels  together,  foreign  fashion,  raised  his  hat 
high,  and  bowed. 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Mr.  Worringham,  collecting  himself — 
"  yes,  to  be  sure — yes — quite  well,  thank  you — yes.  Oh 
yes — let  me  present — Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney — er — er — 
Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney." 

p  81 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  May  I  venture  to  describe  myself  as  a  new  parish- 
ioner ?"  Mr.  Jellyboncl  asked. 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure,  I  hope  so,"  said  Mr.  Worringham. 
"  Quite  an  acquisition,  eh,  Mrs.  Japp  ?  One  more  gen- 
tleman." 

"  And  no  lady  ?"  Mrs.  Japp  sternly  demanded. 

"  No,  alas  !"  said  Mr.  Jelly  bond.  "  No  kind  lady  has 
taken  pity  upon  me — as  yet." 

He  looked  at  the  two  ladies  so  as  to  include  them  both 
impartially  in  this  touching  confidence. 

"  But — mustn't  detain  you,"  said  Mr.  Worringham. 
"  Very  busy." 

The  mother  and  daughter  went  their  way  with  a  curi- 
ously altered  demeanor.  As  they  approached  it  might 
have  been  observed  that  they  were  both  silent  and  de- 
pressed ;  but  no  sooner  were  the  gentlemen  out  of  hear- 
ing than  they  turned  to  each  other  and  began  to  step 
out  and  talk  with  extraordinary  animation. 

After  an  elaborate  inspection  of  the  house  and  grounds, 
Mr.  Jellybond  was  satisfied  that  he  could  make  the  Swiss 
Cottage  all  that  he  desired  in  a  residence,  and  he  accord- 
ingly accepted  Mr.  Worringham's  offer  to  drive  with  him 
at  once  to  Normanton  Hall  to  see  the  squire. 

82 


M 


CHAPTER    IX 

RS.  KINGCONSTANCE'S  visit  to  Miss  Spice 
that  afternoon  was  a  visit  of  kindness  and  con- 
descension, tempered  by  a  natural  desire  to 
know  what  everybody  was  doing  in  the  neigh- 
borhood ;  for  poor  dear  Miss  Spice  was  not,  you  know', 
quite — well,  her  father  was  a  clergyman,  and  that,  of 
course,  entitled  her  to  be  called  upon,  but  then  Mrs. 
Sophia  Pepper,  the  widowed  aunt  on  her  mother's  side 
with  whom  she  lived,  was  not  a  person  with  any  claim 
to  be  recognized,  and  that  made  it  a  little  awkward. 
However,  the  aunt  could  be  civilly  ignored  for  the  sake 
of  Miss  Spice — and  the  news  of  the  neighborhood.  The 
Cross  Roads  Cottage  was  most  conveniently  situated 
where  four  roads,  running  east,  west,  north,  and  south, 
crossed  just  outside  the  village  of  Danehurst;  and  it 
had  somehow  become  the  custom  of  "  the  county  "  to  call 
there  often,  in  spite  of  the  detrimental  aunt.  Ladies 
were  wont  to  make  it  the  object  of  their  afternoon  drive, 
and  thus  it  became  a  centre  to  which  all  the  news  of  the 
neighborhood  flowed.  The  cottage  faced  south,  and 
from  that  direction  only  was  it  visible  to  people  approach- 
ing it.  On  the  other  three  sides  it  was  hidden  from  the 
road  by  the  screen  of  trees  which  encircled  the  delightful 
old  garden.  In  the  summer  the  garden  itself  was  a  great 
attraction.  Ladies  would  make  rendezvous  with  each 
other  there,  and  would  sit  out  together  under  the  trees, 
enjoying  the  heavenly  seclusion  and  each  other's  con- 
versation, while  little  Miss  Spice  and  her  aunt  made  tea 

83 


B  A  B  S       T  H  E       IMPOSSIBLE 

for  them,  and  felt  well  rewarded  by  the  honor  of  enter- 
taining them,  although  several  teas  of  an  afternoon  were 
a  severe  tax  on  the  slender  resources  of  the  two  poor 
ladies.  There  was,  however,  joy  in  the  luxury  of  giv- 
ing and  in  the  gentle,  generous  courtesy  and  kindness 
which  made  of  their  frugal  hospitality  such  an  accept- 
able sacrifice ;  so  perhaps,  after  all,  they  were  right  to 
give  without  grudging,  and  with  no  thought  of  other 
gain  than  the  pleasure  of  providing  refreshment  and 
receiving  thanks  for  the  same. 

The  institution  of  the  Cross  Roads  tea-house  must 
have  been  a  real  boon  to  ladies  living  seventeen  miles 
from  a  railway  station,  for  they  had  but  a  tabby  time  of 
it.  Husbands  were  growing  old,  or  had  died,  and  broth- 
ers had  gone  out  into  the  world,  so  that  for  the  most  part 
society  was  composed  of  lonely  ladies — wives,  widows, 
and  spinsters.  The  few  men  who  might  be  counted  on 
for  a  dinner-party  were  landed  gentry,  in  honor  of  whom 
any  small  function  such  as  an  afternoon  tea  was  held  in 
vain,  so  that  the  appearance  of  a  gentleman  who  was 
not  a  clergyman  at  the  more  informal  gatherings  had 
become  such  a  rare  event  that  if  one  did  come  by  any 
chance,  enough  was  made  of  him  to  turn  his  head  for 
life.  In  fact,  the  importance  of  a  man — a  ladies'  man — 
in  that  secluded  region  had  so  increased  since  the  rail- 
way passed  it  by  on  the  other  side  of  the  county  that  any 
conceited  ape,  if  only  his  manners  had  been  present- 
able, would  have  been  received  at  his  own  valuation  by 
the  most  exclusive  people  in  the  district. 

The  lonely,  stay-at-home  ladies  were  not  for  the  most 
part  women  of  means.  If  there  were  any  money  in  the 
family,  the  men  kept  it,  and  spent  it  on  themselves.  The 
men  had  the  best  education,  the  best  chance  of  cultivat- 
ing their  minds  by  travel  and  experience,  and  the  most 
amusement ;  the  women  were  pretty  generally  skimped 
in  everything  that  did  not  tend  to  increase  the  pleasure 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

or  vouch  for  the  importance  of  their  lords.  As  the  young 
girls  grew  up,  a  sort  of  blight  seemed  to  settle  upon  them ; 
their  beauty  faded,  their  possibilities  shrank  to  nothing, 
and  they  became  for  the  most  part  subdued  and  joyless. 
Occasionally  a  married  woman  would  rise  above  her  sur- 
roundings, develop  all  that  was  best  in  herself  with  in- 
finite pains,  form  her  daughters  into  fine  characters,  and 
be  a  hallowed  influence  to  her  sons ;  but  she  was  made 
to  suffer  for  her  originality  the  pin-pricks  of  the  abject 
who  ignobly  endure — the  usual  penalty  imposed  upon 
those  in  advance  of  their  time. 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  was  one  of  those  people  who  used 
the  pin  on  occasion.  No  wish  of  her  own  had  ever  been 
ungratified,  and,  therefore,  she  had  no  patience  with 
those  who  complain  of  their  lot  in  life.  She  had  no  imag- 
ination to  bring  home  to  her  any  evil  or  pain  which  that 
lot  might  include.  She  knew,  of  course,  that  Miss  Spice's 
means  were  narrow ;  but  she  considered  them  sufficient 
for  Miss  Spice's  position,  and  never  realized  that  Miss 
Spice  was  sadly  nipped  by  the  cold  in  winter  for  want  of 
suitable  clothing,  and  suffered  more  or  less  all  the  year 
round  from  insufficient  food  and  various  other  priva- 
tions. Mrs.  Kingconstance,  in  comfort  in  her  carriage, 
often  passed  Miss  Spice  on  the  road  in  muddy  weather, 
battling  with  the  wind,  on  her  way  to  the  village  shop ; 
but  it  never  occurred  to  her  that  Miss  Spice  was  to  be 
pitied,  far  less  helped.  The  arrangement  of  the  world 
suited  Mrs.  Kingconstance  admirably,  and  if  other  peo- 
ple were  not  so  well  off  as  herself,  it  was  presumably  the 
will  of  the  Lord,  which  nobody  should  question.  Look- 
ing at  life  from  the  cushions  of  her  carriage,  she  saw 
nothing  that  she  would  have  had  altered  ;  and  had  Miss 
Spice,  from  her  point  of  view,  been  inclined  to  cavil,  Mrs. 
Kingconstance  would  have  become  suspicious  of  her, 
and  avoided  her.  She  would  have  dropped  any  one's 
acquaintance  had  she  found  them  differing  from  ac- 

85 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

cepted  conditions  to  the  extent  of  disapproving  of  them  ; 
yet  Mrs.  Kingconstance  would  have  been  much  surprised 
had  anybody  hinted  that  she  was  not  a  most  large-mind- 
ed, as  well  as  kindly  and  considerate,  person,  or  that  she 
failed  to  fulfil  her  whole  duty  in  every  relation  of  life. 
She  had  many  humble  acquaintances  to  whom  she  con- 
descended to  be  affable ;  but  she  carefully  kept  them  in 
their  places,  and  made  them  feel  the  difference  of  posi- 
tion. In  her  friends,  rank  and  wealth  were  all  but  in- 
dispensable. She  did  acknowledge,  however,  that  birth 
may  sometimes  come  down  in  the  world  by  no  fault  of 
its  own,  and  she  did  not,  therefore,  scorn  to  visit  birth 
in  reduced  circumstances.  But,  like  others  of  her  class, 
she  was  ready  to  make  exceptions  to  any  rule  of  her  life 
when  it  suited  herself,  and  if  some  of  the  people  she  coun- 
tenanced had  less  claim  to  that  distinction  than  she  con- 
sidered necessary,  she  had  always  an  excuse  ready  which 
made  the  lapse  redound  to  her  own  credit.  When  she  in- 
dulged in  a  good  gossip,  a  thing  she  dearly  loved,  with 
a  person  not  at  all  her  equal,  she  quite  understood  in 
herself  that  she  was  immensely  superior  to  that  kind  of 
thing,  really,  only  she  did  not  think  it  nice  to  snub  the 
good  creature  by  refusing  to  listen. 

Miss  Spice  happened  to  look  out  of  the  window  just  as 
Mrs.  Kingconstance's  carriage  stopped  at  the  garden 
gate  that  afternoon.  The  sunlight  glinted  on  the  pol- 
ished panels  and  the  silver-mounted  harness ;  the  horses, 
chafing  at  their  cruel  bearing-reins,  pawed  the  ground 
and  tossed  their  heads  in  pain  ;  the  footman  leaped  to 
the  ground  alertly  and  held  out  his  arm  to  help  his  lady 
to  descend ;  and  the  heart  of  little  Miss  Spice,  in  view 
of  such  signs  of  wealth  and  position,  expanded  pleasur- 
ably,  so  that  when  Mrs.  Kingconstance  sailed  into  the 
little  drawing-room,  followed  by  her  daughter  Julia,  it 
would  be  hard  to  say  which  had  the  highest  idea  of  her 
importance,  she  herself  or  Miss  Spice.  She  arrived  most 

86 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

opportunely,  too,  to  add  to  Miss  Spice's  gratification,  for 
Mrs.  and  Miss  Japp  were  there  already,  and  Mrs.  Nor- 
manton,  the  squire's  wife,  with  two  of  her  daughters, 
and  they  would  all  be  pleased  to  see  Mrs.  Kingconstance. 
Mrs.  Norman  ton  herself  was  somebody,  of  course ;  but 
Mrs.  Kingconstance,  being  quite  the  most  exclusive  per- 
son in  the  neighborhood,  was  everywhere  the  most  de- 
sired. So  Miss  Spice  was  all  twitters — and  not  on  her 
own  account  only,  but  on  everybody  else's.  She  looked 
wonderfully  well  that  afternoon,  with  her  flaxen  curls 
framing  her  little,  peeky,  pink  and  white  face,  and  every 
action  animated  by  the  desire  to  please. 

Mrs.  Normanton  was  a  broad  embodiment  of  the  prose 
and  commonplace  of  her  class.  She  was  her  husband's 
creature,  without  a  will  of  her  own.  What  mind  she  had 
was  quite  undeveloped  by  education,  and  contained  a 
curious  conglomerate  of  principles  and  prejudices.  She 
belonged  to  the  generation  of  landed  gentry  who  could 
live  at  home  in  ease  and  idleness  while  the  laborers  on 
the  estate,  with  their  wives  and  children,  were  herded 
together  indecently  in  unsanitary  cottages,  sweated  of 
every  penny  of  wages  and  every  hour  of  time  that  could 
be  wrung  from  them,  expected  to  toil  and  suffer  till  they 
sank  exhausted,  then  carted  off  to  the  workhouse  to  die 
in  disgrace  for  that  they  could  do  no  more.  And  Mrs. 
Normanton,  like  Mrs.  Kingconstance,  would  have  re- 
sented as  an  insult  any  suggestion  that  this  was  not  as 
it  should  be,  according  to  the  will  of  God. 

While  Mrs.  Normanton  and  Mrs.  Kingconstance  were 
entertaining  each  other — which  they  began  to  do  at  once 
without  further  considering  their  hostess,  their  daugh- 
ters following  their  example,  while  Mrs.  and  Miss  Japp 
looked  on — little  Miss  Spice  twittered  into  the  kitchen 
on  the  tips  of  her  toes.  Mrs.  Sophia  Pepper,  her  aunt, 
was  on  her  knees  in  front  of  the  kitchen  fire  making 
toast. 

87 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"Auntie,  dear/'  Miss  Spice  gasped,  excitedly,  "  it's 
Mrs.  Kingconstance  and  Miss  Julia." 

"  Two  more  spoonfuls  of  tea,"  said  Mrs.  Sophia  Pepper. 

Miss  Spice  seized  the  mustard  tin  in  which  the  tea  was 
kept,  and  hastily  put  two  more  teaspoonfuls  into  the  tea- 
pot. She  tilted  the  tin  to  the  light,  and  looked  into  it  be- 
fore she  put  the  lid  on,  then  made  a  rapid  calculation 
mechanically.  The  tea  was  certainly  very  low  ;  could 
it  possibly  be  made  to  hold  out  till  Saturday  ?  Milk 
and  hot  water  had  so  very  little  support  in  it ;  but,  never 
mind — hospitality  !  These  things  must  be  done. 

Mrs.  Sophia  Pepper  cast  a  comprehensive  glance  over 
her  shoulder,  which  took  in  the  whole  situation,  then 
nodded  agreement  at  the  kitchen  fire. 

*  Keep  what's  left  for  visitors,"  she  said,  grimly. 
"  We'll  do  without." 

She  might  have  shared  her  brains  with  most  of  her 
niece's  visitors,  giving  each  enough  to  inspire  respect, 
and  still  have  had  plenty  left  for  herself ;  yet  she,  too,  suf- 
fered from  the  influences  of  her  environment,  and  felt 
it  an  honor  to  have  such  company  under  her  roof.  But 
respect  for  the  position  of  her  niece's  guests  did  not  pre- 
vent Mrs.  Sophia  Pepper  from  summing  them  up  and 
appraising  them  on  occasion  shrewdly. 

Miss  Spice  fluttered  back  to  the  drawing-room,  hold- 
ing aloft  the  buttered  toast  on  a  plate  in  one  hand  and 
some  slices  of  cake  in  the  other.  She  reminded  herself 
of  a  picture  she  had  seen,  when  she  was  in  London,  of 
a  lovely  young  lady  with  nothing  worth  mentioning  on 
her  shoulders,  who  was  holding  up  to  a  king  a  symboli- 
cal offering  of  flowers  and  fruit.  She  was  also  conscious 
of  her  streaming  hair,  and  had  she  seen  a  reflection  of 
herself  with  wings  in  the  little  Sheraton  mirror  on  the 
wall  opposite  the  door  as  she  entered  the  drawing-room, 
she  would  hardly  have  been  surprised,  so  lightly  did  she 
seem  to  skim  along  in  her  elation. 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Kingconstance,  have  you  heard  the  news  ?" 
she  burst  out.  "  The  stranger  !" 

She  stopped,  and  blushed  and  twittered  as  if  the  news 
somehow  concerned  herself  specially,  pleasantly,  but 
also  much  to  her  modest  embarrassment. 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  looked  at  her  out  of  her  great,  soft 
dark  eyes,  much  as  a  nice,  comfortable,  well-bred  cow 
looks  when  in  an  inquiring  mood — not  sympathetically, 
but  somewhat  suspiciously,  as  if  she  expected  to  be  dis- 
turbed. 

Miss  Spice  glanced  archly  at  Mrs.  Normanton. 

*  Do  tell  !"  she  entreated. 

That  usually  stolid  mother  of  a  family  at  once  became 
animated ;  so  also  did  Mrs.  Japp  and  Florence.  But 
before  another  word  could  be  said  a  carriage  stopped 
at  the  gate,  and  a  tall,  gaunt,  but  not  inelegant  gray- 
haired  lady  with  a  hard  countenance  descended.  She 
looked  as  if  she  were  coming  to  pronounce  sentence  of 
death  on  somebody. 

"  Here's  Lady  May,"  said  Miss  Spice.  "  I  must  let 
her  in." 

When  Lady  May  was  seated,  Julia  asked,  impatiently : 

"  Who's  the  man,  Miss  Spice  ?" 

Miss  Spice  looked  at  Mrs.  Normanton,  twittered,  blush- 
ed, and  rounded  her  eyes  in  an  ecstasy  of  dumb  entreaty. 

"  It  is  only  a  gentleman,"  Mrs.  Normanton  said,  try- 
ing hard  not  to  look  as  though  that  were  important. 
"  The  Swiss  Cottage,  you  know.  We  have  sold  it." 

"  But  that  is  not  all !"  cried  Miss  Spice,  shaking  off  her 
modest  embarrassment  suddenly  in  her  excitement.  "  It 
is  sold  to  a  somebody — a  great  man." 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  raised  inquiring  eyebrows. 

"  Six  feet,  at  least,  and  stout  in  proportion,"  Mrs.  Japp 
put  in. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Japp,  dear !"  little  Miss  Spice  remonstrated. 
"  He  is  a  fine  man,  of  course ;  but  there  is  something 

89 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

more  than  size.     There  is  mystery,  or  I  am  'much  mis- 
taken." 

"  Oh,  come  now,  Miss  Spice,"  said  Mrs.  Normanton, 
stiffly,  resenting  the  imputation  of  mystery  as  some- 
thing not  respectable.  "  My  husband  ascertained  all 
that  was  necessary.  You  may  be  sure  he  would  see  to 
that,  and  have  proper  references  before  he  sold  the  house. 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Miss  Spice ;  "  of  course  we  know  the 
squire  would  not  have  any  one  come  into  the  neighbor- 
hood without  ascertaining.  But  a  gentleman  may  have 
the  highest  references — and  that  is  just  it,  dear  Mrs. 
Normanton.  This  gentleman's  references  are  so  very 
high — they  come  from  such  very  high  quarters — that  it 
means  mystery.  The  stranger  must  be  a  distinguished 
man  to  know  such  people.  Then  why  is  he  here  ?  He 
does  not  say — he  cannot  explain ;  but  he  accidentally 
led  me  to  infer — " 

"  Then  you  have  made  his  acquaintance  ?"  said  Mrs. 
Kingconstance. 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Spice,  solemnly ;  "  and  I  have  seen 
him  on  two  occasions." 

"  Well,  what  did  he  tell  you  ?"  Lady  May  asked,  some- 
what impatiently. 

"  Nothing,"  Miss  Spice  answered,  impressively.  "  The 
first  time  we  met  we — er — we  conversed ;  the  second  time 
he  drew  from  his  breast-pocket  a  lovely  miniature — a 
Cosway,  he  said.  It  was  the  portrait  of  a  beautiful  lady 
in  court  dress.  The  likeness  was  so  unmistakable  I  knew 
who  it  was  even  before  he  said  '  My  mother/  I  asked — 
I  ventured  to  ask  to  see  his  father's,  but  he  only  sighed. 
'Ah,  my  dear  Miss  Spice/  he  said,  '  some  people  have 
sorrows  before  they  are  born.'  No,  though" — she  cor- 
rected herself — "  I  don't  think  it  could  have  been  that  ex- 
actly. Let  me  see.  Was  it  '  Some  people's  sorrows  be- 
gin before  they  are  born  '  ?  Something  to  that  effect, 
at  all  events.  Now  don't  you  call  that  mysterious  ?" 

90 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  It  sounds  odd,  certainly/'  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance, 
helping  herself  to  another  slice  of  buttered  toast  and 
turning  to  Lady  May.  "  Have  you  seen  anything  of 
this  new  acquisition  to  the  neighborhood  ?  Is  he  to  be 
received  ?" 

"  There  can  be  no  question  of  that/'  Mrs.  Normanton 
decided. 

"  A  bachelor,  and  well  off  1"  Mrs.  Japp  exclaimed,  as  if 
the  notion  of  not  receiving  him  were  preposterous. 

"  Oh,  and  a  man  of  such  taste,  too  !"  Miss  Spice  put 
in,  with  a  little  scream  of  enthusiasm.  "  You  should 
have  heard  him  on  the  subject  of  Chippendale — the 
grace,  you  know." 

Miss  Spice  would  not  have  mentioned  the  value  on 
any  account ;  but  the  knowledge  that  her  furniture  was 
good  lent  her  a  sense  of  dignity  such  as  she  had  never 
before  experienced.  She  glanced  round  the  room  a$  she 
spoke,  and  the  other  ladies'  eyes  followed  hers  in  wonder. 

"  Did  he  admire  these  things  ?"  said  Florence  Japp. 

"  He  did,"  said  Miss  Spice,  valiantly. 

There  was  a  dead  silence,  then  Mrs.  Kingconstance 
observed,  with  comfortable  indifference : 

"  A  gentleman  of  taste  will  really  be  an  acquisition  to 
the  neighborhood." 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Miss  Spice,  fervently.  "  One  does  not 
see  many  such  men.  Once  in  my  life,  indeed — when  I 
was  in  London — "  She  broke  off  short  and  sighed,  her 
thoughts  having  reverted  to  the  Royal  Duke  to  whom 
she  had  dropped  a  courtesy. 

"  What  is  the  gentleman's  name,  by-the-way  ?"  Mrs. 
Kingconstance  asked. 

"  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney ;  but  for  the  present  he  pre- 
fers to  be  called  plain  Mr.  Jellybond/'  Miss  Spice  replied, 
and  then  she  blushed  and  simpered.  It  showed  such 
intimacy  to  know  his  wishes  in  the  matter. 

"  Gracious  !"  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance.  "  Jellybond 

91 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

Tinney  ?  I  never  knew  there  was  such  a  name/'  and 
she  shook  her  head  so  that  everybody  felt  that  there  was 
something  discreditable  to  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  in  the 
fact  that  Mrs.  Kingconstance  did  not  know  his  name. 

On  the  way  home  Julia  asked  her  mother  what  she  in- 
tended to  do  with  regard  to  the  new-comer. 

"  Nothing/'  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance.  "  It  is  all  very 
well  for  the  Normantons  to  countenance  him,  especially 
if  he  is  rich.  They  have  a  large  family  of  daughters, 
and  it  is  important  to  them  to  be  on  friendly  terms  with 
him.  I  am  in  quite  a  different  position." 

She  nestled  back  in  her  carriage  comfortably  upon  the 
remark,  and  began  to  think  of  dinner.  She  was  afraid 
that  she  had  said  nothing  about  a  savory.  The  sweets 
she  remembered  discussing,  but  not  the  savory.  And 
she  did  feel  that  she  should  especially  like  a  savory  that 
evening — something  to  tempt  the  appetite;  sweets  are 
so  cloying.  "Angels  on  horseback/'  now — those  deli- 
cious little  morsels  of  oysters  rolled  in  bacon  and  served 
on  crisp  toast,  very  hot;  and  the  oysters  were  in  the 
house. 

She  sat  up  with  sudden  energy  and  ordered  the  coach- 
man to  drive  faster. 

"  Do  you  want  anything,  mamma,?"  Julia  asked. 

"  'Angels  on  horseback !'  "Mrs.  Kingconstance  ejacu- 
lated. 

Miss  Spice,  meantime,  was  pressing  her  aunt  to  eat 
a  bit  of  cold  buttered  toast  that  had  been  left  from  tea. 
Her  own  evening  meal  consisted  of  bread  and  beef  drip- 
ping, with  a  little  milk  and  a  good  deal  of  hot  water. 

92 


CHAPTER    X 

FOR  several  days  Babs  wearied  for  Cadenhouse, 
but  he  did  not  come.  Then  she  wrote  him  a 
stiff  little  note : 

"  Mamma  desires  me  to  say  that  she  particu- 
larly wishes  to  see  you  at  luncheon  to-morrow  at  1.30 
o'clock." 

Punctually  to  the  moment  Lord  Cadenhouse  arrived. 
Babs  was  waiting  in  the  hall  to  waylay  him. 

"  I  thought  that  would  fetch  you/'  she  said 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say — "  he  was  beginning,  but  she 
interrupted  him. 

"  Don't  you  give  me  away/'  she  said,  "  or  there'll  be 
ructions.  And  don't  look  at  the  door  like  that — you've 
been  announced.  There's  no  escape." 

"  Babs,"  said  Lord  Cadenhouse,  severely,  "  if  you  ever 
play  me,  such  a  trick  again  I  shall  tell." 

"  Oh,  all  right,"  said  Babs  ;  "  only  come  along  now 
and  be  nice.  It  was  quite  true,  though.  Mamma  does 
wish  to  see  you.  She's  always  wondering  why  you 
don't  come." 

She  led  the  way  towards  the  dining-room,  where  the 
rest  of  the  party  were  already  seated.  Lord  Caden- 
house followed  her  with  his  head  in  the  air.  On  the 
way  it  struck  Babs  that  he  was  exceedingly  grave  and 
dignified  in  appearance.  She  looked  at  him  admir- 
ingly. 

"  People  don't  generally  take  liberties  with  you,  I 
should  think,"  she  said. 

93 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  No,  they  do  not/'  said  Cadenhouse. 

"  Then  this  must  be  a  nice  change  for  you,"  she  re- 
joined. 

Cadenhouse  stiffened  perceptibly  ;  but  they  were  at 
the  dining-room  door,  and  he  made  no  reply. 

When  he  entered,  the  party  was  as  dull  as  a  north 
room  in  midwinter.  Mrs.  Kingconstance  never  owned 
that  she  was  dull.  If  she  felt  depressed,  she  used  to 
say  it  was  debility,  and  order  something  nice  to  eat ; 
then  she  would  give  herself  up  to  the  pleasures  of 
anticipation,  consumption,  and  recollection — exercises 
which  she  usually  found  all-sufficing  for  her  comfort. 
She  did  not  call  it  comfort  when  it  came,  however, 
but  resignation.  On  this  occasion  she  had  just  said 
grace,  and  was  sitting  with  her  head  up,  in  anticipa- 
tion of  the  good  things  to  come.  Miss  Minton  and 
Julia  were  still  suffering  from  a  tussle  with  a  passage 
of  single  -  patient  on  the  piano,  and  could  not  com- 
mand a  smile  between  them;  while  with  poor  Miss 
Kingconstance  it  was  one  of  those  days  that  have  to 
be  endured — so  different  from  the  days  that  are  lived. 
The  household  was  too  heavily  charged  with  feminin- 
ity. The  accustomed  presence  of  Montacute  and  his 
tutor  did  nothing  to  relieve  the  benumbing  preponder- 
ance of  it.  An  outside  influence  was  necessary,  and 
when  Cadenhouse  came  the  effect  of  his  vitality  made 
itself  felt  immediately.  It  was  like  a  powerful  stimu- 
lant that  quickens  the  pulse  and  sharpens  the  wits.  Julia 
and  Miss  Minton  smiled  at  the  difficulties  of  single- 
patient  ;  Miss  Kingconstance  was  relieved  from  her  mor- 
bid self-consciousness,  and  wondered  how  she  could  have 
imagined  that  a  certain  letter  which  her  sister-in-law 
had  received  that  morning  concerned  her  ;  Mrs.  King- 
constance suddenly  ceased  to  feel  that  she  must  take 
something  ;  and  Montacute  and  his  tutor,  being  in- 
fected with  the  change  of  mood  that  was  operating 

94 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

around  them,  turned  to  each  other  and  talked  without 
fear  of  being  snubbed. 

•  Mrs.  Kingconstance  welcomed  Cadenhouse  warmly. 
She  had  known  him  all  his  life,  and  in  his  boyhood  he 
had  come  continually  to  Dane  Court ;  but  since  he  had 
grown  up  she  had  seen  very  little  of  him.  Now,  as 
he  sat  at  table,  she  inspected  him  curiously,  as  also  did 
Miss  Kingconstance,  with  whom  he  had  played  about 
the  place  not  so  many  years  before.  Both  were  con- 
scious of  some  subtle  change  in  him,  which  neither 
could  find  words  to  define.  As  might  have  been  ex- 
pected, the  grave,  silent  boy  had  grown  into  a  grave, 
silent  man  ;  but  there  was  more  than  that — more  than 
the  change  from  boy  to  man. 

He  had  one  of  those  faces  which  have  this  in  common 
with  great  statuary,  that  they  bear  no  impress  of  age. 
It  is  maturity  that  is  typified,  maturity  at  the  point  of 
perfection,  which  makes  us  think  neither  of  youth  nor 
of  age,  but  pins  us  to  the  present  with  a  sense  of  satis- 
faction not  to  be  analyzed.  Cadenhouse  was  clean- 
shaven. His  featu  es  were  regular  and  refined.  He  was 
somewhat  pale,  but  there  was  a  suggestion  of  high 
health  in  his  whole  appearance.  It  was  his  eyes  and 
mouth  that  marked  him  more  than  ordinary.  His  eyes 
were  dark  and  bright,  but  unimpassioned  and  slow.  He 
seemed  to  be  looking  on  at  life  rather  than  living  it.  It 
was  as  if  he  were  surveying  the  world  from  a  distance 
and  considering  all  he  saw  impartially.  His  mouth  in 
repose  agreed  with  his  eyes,  and  the  finely  curved  full 
lips  set  firmly.  But  the  thing  about  his  face  that  was 
most  striking  was  its  extraordinary  placidity.  His 
whole  personality  suggested  strength;  but  it  was  in 
the  exceeding  calm  of  his  mouth  that  this  impression 
centred.  There  is  a  saying  that  God  makes  every  feat- 
ure of  the  face  but  the  mouth — our  mouths  we  make 
ourselves.  Mouths  are  made  or  marred  by  time,  trial, 

95 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

and  habit,  softened  by  heart,  hardened  by  suffering  ; 
but  it  is  to  the  soul  that  they  owe  the  finishing  touch. 
The  change  which  the  ladies  were  aware  of  in  Caden- 
house's  appearance  came  from  this  cause — his  soul  had 
set  its  first  fine  line  upon  his  mouth  to  finish  it,  and 
already  in  expression  it  was  beautiful. 

Cadenhouse  looked  round  in  turn,  and  noted  the 
changes  since  he  had  .last  been  there — the  children 
nearly  grown  up,  their  mother  more  matronly  in  her 
beauty,  and  Miss  Kingconstance  —  Cadenhouse  was 
shocked  at  the  change  in  her.  Miss  Kingconstance 
was  a  wreck. 

"  How  nice  it  is  to  see  you  here  again !"  Mrs  King- 
constance exclaimed.  "  Now  that  you  have  found  your 
way  back,  I  hope  you  will  come  often." 

"  Oh,  he'll  come,  right  enough,"  said  Babs.  "  I'll 
answer  for  him." 

"  Upon  whose  authority  ?"  Miss  Kingconstance  asked. 

She  smiled  as  she  spoke,  and  Babs  stared  at  her  in 
astonishment,  her  face  was  so  beautified.  Babs  realized 
how  very  seldom  she  had  seen  her  aunt  smile. 

"  What  is  it  you  asked  me  ?"  she  said,  recollecting  her- 
self. "  But  never  mind.  Benson,"  she  called  to  the  but- 
ler, "  more  beef.  I  don't  know  what  there  is  about  you, 
Cadenhouse,  but  you  do  make  me  feel  hungry." 

"  You  must  not  speak  to  Lord  Cadenhouse  in  that 
familiar  way,  Babs,"  her  mother  admonished  her. 

"  Oh,  all  right,  mother,"  said  Babs,  not  a  bit  abashed. 
"  I'll  call  him  '  Good  Lord  '  if  he  likes.  Potatoes,  Ben- 
son ;  nobody  seems  hungry  but  me.  I  say,  my  Lord 
Marquis,  what  shall  1  call  your  lordship  ?  You  do  look 
nice  with  that  shadow  of  a  smile  on  your  lips.  Do  you 
know  I  like  your  face  awfully.  What  may  I  call  you, 
Cadenhouse  ?" 

"  I  know  what  Lord  Cadenhouse  will  call  you,"  said 
Miss  Kingconstance. 

96 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Something  nice,  as  befits  his  knightliness,  I'm  sure," 
Babs  rattled  on.  "  My  Lord  Cadenhouse,  thou  shalt  be 
mine  own  true  knight,  and  thou  wilt,  and  I'll  give  thee 
a  cuff  on  the  visage  to  wear  in  token  of  the  same  when 
I  have  an  opportunity." 

*  Babs,  1  wish  you  wouldn't  gabble  on  so,"  Mrs.  King- 
constance  remonstrated.     "  You  talk  perfect  nonsense." 

"  Even  the  perfection  of  nonsense  is  not  to  be  heard 
every  day,"  said  Babs,  turning  her  attention  to  the  side- 
board. 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  smiled,  proud  mother,  indulgent 
at  Cadenhouse. 

"  What  a  lovely  day  for  the  Normantons'  party !" 
Julia  remarked. 

"  Oh  yes.  By-the-way,"  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance, 
"  are  you  coming,  Lorraine  ?" 

"  I've  not  decided,"  her  sister-in-law  replied  ;  "  but  if 
I  go,  I  shall  drive  myself  there." 

"  Then  which  of  you  children  will  come  with  me  ?" 
Mrs.  Kingconstance  asked. 

"  I  won't,"  said  Babs. 

"  That's  fiat,"  said  Montacute. 

"  I  cannot  call  it  polite,"  his  mother  observed. 

*  'Polergize,"  said  Babs.     "  When  I'm  a  young  lady 
I'll  go  to  garden-parties  and  '  at  homes,'  but  not  now. 
My  youth  preserves  me  !" 

"  Babs  doesn't  like  parties,"  Mrs.  Kingconstance 
somewhat  superfluously  explained  to  Cadenhouse  in 
plaintive  tones. 

"  No,  I  don't,"  said  Babs.  "  It's  all  dilly-dally-dawdle, 
and  nobody  at  their  nicest." 

"  Is  it  altogether  their  fault  if  they  take  no  notice  of 
you  ?"  Julia  asked,  suavely. 

"  They  take  too  much  notice  of  me,"  Babs  answered. 
"  That's  what  I  complain  of,  because  it  is  not  to  please 
me  that  they  do  it.  Nobody  wants  to  please  anybody. 
G  97 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

Everybody  wants  to  make  up  to  somebody  more  impor- 
tant than  themselves.  They  begin  with  me  when  they 
want  to  arrive  at  mamma.  Isn't  it  so,  Aunt  Lorraine  ?" 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  smiled  significantly  and  shrug- 
ged her  shoulders. 

"I  can't  stand  that  kind  of  thing,"  Babs  pursued.  "  If 
people  want  to  know  me,  they  must  know  me  for  myself  ; 
they  must  be  nice  to  me  because  it's  right  to  be  nice,  and 
they  must  be  nice  to  every  deserving  person  in  my 
neighborhood.  Unkindness  gets  into  the  atmosphere, 
I  think  ;  I  always  shrivel  up  when  somebody  else  is 
snubbed,  and  somebody  is  always  being  snubbed  here- 
abouts. I  do  hate  the  inhumanity  of  the  county — not 
of  the  smart  people  so  much — they  don't  count ;  but  of 
the  pious  people." 

"  Don't  say  '  shrivel  up/  Babs,"  her  mother  remon- 
strated. "  You  do  use  such  strange  expressions.  I  can- 
not think  where  you  get  them.  Lady  May  was  talking 
only  the  other  day  about  the  deplorable  deterioration  of 
young  people  in  regard  to  their  language.  She  says 
she  hears  nothing  now  but  slang." 

"  Then  I  dare  say  she  speaks  the  truth  for  once,"  said 
Babs.  "  Everybody  knows  she's  gone  gray  in  her  ef- 
forts to  get  into  the  slangiest  set  in  the  country.  She 
was  born  among  the  pious  people,  but  she  would  be  born 
again  into  the  smart  set ;  and  the  smart  set  would  not 
let  her  in  quite,  and  the  pious  people  wouldn't  have  her 
back,  so  now  she  is  nothing  but  a  hoverer  on  the  out- 
side edge  of  both  sets,  and  she  only  sees  enough  of  each 
to  excite  her  ire." 

Miss  Kingconstance  sighed. 

"  There  is  something  in  atmosphere,"  she  said.  "  I 
am  thinking  of  what  Babs  was  saying  about  unkind- 
ness  getting  into  the  atmosphere.  To-day  there  is  a 
strange  sense  of  peace." 

Cadenhouse  looked  at  her  thoughtfully. 

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BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Is  there  really  such  a  thing  as  moral  atmosphere  ?" 
she  pursued. 

"  So  it  is  said,"  Cadenhouse  rejoined. 

"  But  what  is  it  ?" 

"An  atmosphere  composed  of  good  thoughts/'  he  sug- 
gested. "  I  have  heard  it  argued  that  thoughts  are 
things,  and  also  that  thought  is  creative." 

"  Then  if  that  be  so,"  she  concluded,  "  one  might 
easily  conceive  that  when  our  thoughts  are  pleasant, 
all  around  us  there  will  be  a  space  of  pleasantness  and 
peace;  but  if  they  are  unpleasant,  every  one  in  our 
near  neighborhood  will  suffer  discomfort." 

"  But  isn't  it  so  ?"  said  Cadenhouse.  "  Get  several 
unpleasant-minded  people  together,  and  see  how  they 
upset  you.  If  you  lived  with  such  people  long  enough 
your  health  and  spirits  would  be  both  impaired.  The 
first  germ  of  disease  was  propagated  in  a  malicious  mind 
by  an  evil  thought." 

"  What  a  pity  our  doctors  don't  pursue  that  line  of 
research  !"  Miss  Kingconstance  exclaimed. 

"  Oh,  I  say,  Aunt  Lorraine,"  said  Babs,  "  how  nice 
you  look,  sitting  up  so,  and  all  flushed." 

Everybody  looked  at  Miss  Kingconstance. 

"  Really,  this  is  embarrassing,"  she  remonstrated. 

But  it  was  true  that  she  looked  well.  Something  was 
rousing  her  out  of  her  valetudinarian  state  and  filling 
her  with  new  life. 

"  You  do  look  well,  dear,"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  said. 
"  Do  you  feel  so  ?" 

"  I  am  feeling  that  there  is  something  to  live  for.  A 
novel  sensation,"  Miss  Kingconstance  answered,  ener- 
getically. 

"  The  word  '  novel '  reminds  me,"  said  her  inconse- 
quent sister-in-law.  "  Can  you  recommend  anything, 
Cadenhouse  ? — new  books,  I  mean." 

"  For  yourself  ?"  he  asked. 

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BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Yes,  and  for  the  girls,  too." 

"  Not  for  me,"  said  Babs.  "  You'll  not  catch  me  read- 
ing books." 

"  As  if  you  could  read  anything  else,"  said  Julia. 

"  Don't  be  shallow,  jeering  Julia,"  Babs  retorted. 
"  Have  you  never  heard  of  reading  the  hearts  of  men  ?" 

The  corners  of  Cadenhouse's  mouth  relaxed  once 
more. 

"  Come,  come,  children,  don't  be  rude  to  each  other," 
Mrs.  Kingconstance  said. 

"  We're  not  rude,  mamma,"  said  Babs.  "  I'm  always 
explaining  that.  It's  only  our  way  of  taking  intellect- 
ual exercise." 

"  Babs  is  going  to  set  up  for  a  wit,"  said  Julia. 

"  What  am  I  going  to  set  up  on,  Julia  ?"  Babs  asked. 
*  The  haystack  of  your  attempts  that  have  failed  ?" 

"  I  think  I  hear  the  carriage,  mamma,"  said  Julia. 

"  Dear  me  1"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  exclaimed. 

"  Be  calm,  mamma,"  said  Babs.  "  When  you  begin 
to  fuss  there  is  such  a  disturbance  in  the  moral  atmos- 
phere we  are  all  upset." 

"  It  really  is  time  we  dressed,"  Mrs.  Kingconstance 
said,  looking  at  Cadenhouse  apologetically.  "  I  am 
afraid  we  must  go.  It  is  quite  a  long  drive.  But  per- 
haps you  are  coming  to  the  party  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Cadenhouse.     "  I  regret  er — " 

"  Oh,  all  right,  we  know,"  said  Babs.  "  That's  just 
the  way  I  feel — previous  engagement,  and  that  kind  of 
thing.  But  you  are  not  going  away  yet.  Come  and 
converse.  I've  heaps  of  things  to  say,  and  I  want  to 
ask  you  questions.  I  love  to  converse,  don't  you  ?" 

"  Don't  worry  Lord  Cadenhouse,  Babs,"  Mrs.  King- 
constance adjured  her. 

"  Worry  him,  mamma  !  Gracious,  look  at  him  !  If 
he  were  not  so  haughty  he'd  be  grinning.  Wouldn't 
you,  Cadenhouse  ?" 

100 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

Cadenhouse  smiled,  and  Mrs.  Kingconstance  hurried 
off,  followed  by  Julia.  Miss  Kingconstance  strolled 
away,  too  ;  the  others  had  already  disappeared. 

"  Now,"  said  Babs,  heaving  a  deep  sigh,  "  where  shall 
we  go,  and  what  shall  we  talk  about  ?  Come  on  to  the 
terrace,  it's  so  fine." 

He  followed  her  out  through  the  windows,  and  they 
began  to  walk  up  and  down  together,  he  with  his  hands 
clasped  behind  him,  listening  for  the  most  part,  she 
swinging  her  arms  and  gesticulating  as  she  talked. 

"  Not  that  it  matters  what  we  discuss,"  she  pursued. 
"  The  great  thing  is  to  keep  on  talking  and  looking  at 
each  other,  and  smiling,  and  that  sort  of  thing,  don't 
you  know.  You  must  feel  pleasantly  disposed  towards 
me,  and  I'll  feel  pleasantly  disposed  towards  you ;  and 
then  we  shall  be  all  right  together.  We  shall  be  charg- 
ing the  moral  atmosphere  with  a  double  dose  of  good 
things  all  the  time." 

"  That  is  the  secret  of  social  success,"  said  Caden- 
house. "  How  did  you  arrive  at  it,  Babs  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  answered,  casually.  "  It's 
just  come  to  me  out  of  your  moral  atmosphere  remarks, 
I  think." 

"  You  must  be  a  singularly  apt  pupil,"  he  observed. 

"  Miss  Minton  wouldn't  say  so,"  she  rejoined.  "  But 
don't  you  try  to  teach  me  things.  I  don't  want  to  learn. 
I  know  already  that  two  and  two  make  four,  but  I  don't 
feel  any  the  better  for  it." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  better  ?" 

"  Can't  say,"  said  Babs. 

"  By  '  can't  say  '  do  you  mean  you  don't  know  ?" 

"  No,"  she  answered,  decidedly.  "  In  myself  I  know, 
only  I  can't — "  She  pulled  some  leaves  from  a  shrub 
and  began  to  shred  them  to  pieces,  hesitating  for  a  word. 

"  You  can't  express  it,"  he  suggested. 

She  nodded. 

101 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  The  kind  of  thing  my  governess  teaches  me — no, 
not  the  things,  not  the  facts  themselves,  but  what  she 
wants  me  to  think  about  the  facts — that's  it,  or  as  near  as 
I  can  come  to  it — all  that  kind  of  teaching  seems  to  put 
out  something  else  that  I  have  in  me  which  is  much  more 
enthralling,  much  better  worth  cultivating,  than  my 
mind.  There's  more  pleasure  in  it,  too,  and  more  power. 
When  I  hear  of  Henry  VIII.  and  his  wives,  it  only  makes 
me  think  horrid  thoughts ;  but  when  some  one  says 
something  like — like — 

" '  For,  while  the  tired  waves,  vainly  breaking, 

Seem  here  no  painful  inch  to  gain, 
Far  back,  through  creeks  and  inlets  making, 
Comes  silent,  flooding  in,  the  main,' 

I  feel — oh  !"  She  hugged  herself.  "  You  don't  see 
much  in  that,  perhaps  ;  but  there  is.  There  is  infinity 
in  it.  When  it  comes  into  my  mind,  I  glow  and  am  glad. 
I  expand.  There  is  pleasure  in  every  inch  of  me  ;  and 
it  is  as  if  I  filled  out  and  grew  bigger,  so  that  there  might 
be  more  inches  of  me  to  be  resolved  into  bliss.  And  why  ? 
Not  for  the  words  themselves,  certainly,  but  for  what 
they  contain." 

"  How  do  you  mean,  Babs  ?" 

"  What  there  is  in  them,  you  know,"  she  answered. 

"  But  what  is  there  in  them  ?" 

"  Why,  man,  there  is  hope  in  them,  isn't  there  ?"  She 
opened  wide  blue  eyes  upon  him,  as  though  amazed  that 
she  should  have  to  tell  him.  "  I  suppose  you  know  what 
hope  is  ?"  she  inquired,  ironically. 

"  It  is  something  different  in  each  case,"  he  answered. 
"  How  do  you  define  it  ?" 

"As  a  foretaste,  for  one  thing,"  she  answered.  "  It  is 
our  first  glimmering  of  good  things  in  store  for  us  ;  it  is 
pleasant  expectation.  No  one  can  be  quite  wretched 
who  has  something  to  look  forward  to.  But  it  doesn't 

102 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

last  long,  does  it  ?  I  wish  it  did — hope,  I  mean.  It  so 
soon  becomes  certainty,  because  of  that  something  else, 
you  know,  in  one's  self — in  myself,  which,  when  I  great- 
ly desire  anything,  gives  me  an  assurance — makes  me 
know  whether  I  shall  get  it  or  not.  But  sometimes  it 
keeps  me  in  suspense,"  she  qualified,  "  because  I  cannot 
command  it." 

"  What  is  it  like,  Babs  —  that  '  something  else '  T 
Cadenhouse  asked,  greatly  interested. 

Babs  looked  out  afar,  as  if  to  the  horizon  ;  but  Caden- 
house saw  that  it  was  the  inward  vision  that  shone  in 
her  eyes. 

"  It  has  to  do  with  tokens,  signs,  wonders,  premoni- 
tions, and  such  like  foolishness,  as  people  call  it.  And 
there  is,  besides,  the  voice — the  voice  that  speaks  to  me 
— hire,"  she  clasped  her  hands  on  her  chest — "  here,  in 
myself,  directing  me." 

They  took  a  turn  in  silence. 

"  Babs,"  said  Cadenhouse,  at  last,  impressively — 
"  Babs,  do  you  know  that  those  whom  that  voice  ad- 
dresses are  called  to  be  of  the  elect  ?" 

"  I  know  nothing,"  said  Babs.  "  But  those  are  the 
things  that  I  want  to  know.  I  want  to  know  about 
this  pleasure,  and  this  power  —  this  something  in 
me.  Is  it  to  be  cultivated  ?  Can  I  get  at  it  to  con- 
trol it  ?" 

"  Of  a  surety." 

"  How  T 

"  By  self-denial,  by  teaching,  by  training,  by  leading 
the  life.  But  you  are  too  young,  Babs,"  he  broke  off. 
"  By-and-by,  when  you  are  older,  you  shall  hear  more 
of  these  things." 

"  But  if  I  lead  the  life,  will  all  that  cease  to  be  vague 
and  elusive  ?" 

"All  that,  I  promise  you,  will  become  as  clear  as 
the  piece  of  knowledge  you  scoffed  at  just  now — the 

103 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

fact  that  two  and  two  make  four.     But  I  must  leave 
you ;  it  is  getting  late." 

"  No,  no/'  she  pleaded.     "  Do  stay — do  tell  me  more." 

She  clasped  her  hands  round  his  arm  in  her  eagerness 
to  detain  him,  and  raised  her  angelic  face  to  his. 

Cadenhouse  hastily  disengaged  his  arm  and  fled. 

Miss  Kingconstance  had  come  out  onto  the  terrace 
in  time  to  witness  this  last  little  scene. 

"  St.  Anthony  1"  she  said. 

Babs  retired  to  the  library  to  look  up  St.  Anthony  in 
order  to  make  out  the  purport  of  the  allusion. 

104 


1W 


CHAPTER    XI 

[EANWHILE  Julia  and  her  mother  drove  through 
the  balmy  country  lanes  to  Normanton.  The 
cold  spring  had  advanced  to  early  summer  sud- 
denly. The  fruit  trees  were  in  blossom,  and 
the  birds  were  singing  blithely. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Julia,  "  is  Lord  Cadenhouse  in  love 
with  Babs  ?" 

"  My  dear  child,  Babs  is  not  yet  out  of  the  school- 
room !"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  exclaimed.  There  was  a 
look  of  complacency  on  her  face,  however,  when  she 
had  spoken,  which  showed  that  the  suggestion  was  not 
unpleasant. 

"  How  do  you  know  when  a  man  is  in  love  with  you, 
mamma  ?" 

"  Oh,  he  tells  you." 

"  How  does  he  tell  you  ?" 

"  Really,  Julia — "  Mrs.  Kingconstance  quite  blushed. 

"  I  suppose  you  understand  him,  at  all  events,  when 
the  time  comes,"  Julia  put  in,  to  make  it  easier  for  her 
mother. 

"  Oh  dear,  yes  !  There  is  no  mistaking  a  man  in  that 
mood." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that.  Because,  if  a  man  proposed  to 
me — a  really  good  match,  you  know —  and  I  didn't  un- 
derstand, and  drove  him  away,  as  they  do  in  the  books 
sometimes,  I  should  be  horridly  disgusted." 

The  carriage  swept  up  the  drive  to  Normanton  Hall 
and  set  them  down  under  the  pillared  portico.  Several 

105 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

other  carriages  were  standing  about  empty.  It  seemed 
as  if  the  whole  county  had  already  arrived,  and  the 
house  was  overflowing  ;  for  the  genial  weather  was 
tempting  the  people  out  into  the  grounds,  and  they  were 
making  a  garden-party  of  it.  As  usual  at  all  such  gath- 
erings thereabouts,  there  was  a  depressing  preponder- 
ance of  ladies.  A  sprinkling  of  youths  not  old  enough 
to  count  as  yet,  and  a  few  elderly  gentlemen  of  superan- 
nuated design,  who  were  looked  upon  as  institutions 
rather  than  as  men  by  the  ladies,  did  their  best  to  leaven 
the  monotonous  femininity  of  the  assembly,  and  with 
unwonted  success,  as  it  seemed,  for  the  animation  that 
prevailed  was  extraordinary.  The  countenances  of  the 
ladies  beamed.  Even  the  dullest  perked  about,  talking 
to  each  other  with  a  faint  display  of  interest,  just  as 
they  do  at  parties  on  the  stage.  Only  one  stimulus 
could  cause  such  a  stir  in  that  forlorn  feminine  commu- 
nity, but  it  would  have  been  hard  for  a  new-comer  to 
determine  the  source  of  it,  so  sedulously  did  the  ladies 
confine  their  attentions  to  each  other  and  restrain  their 
glances  from  wandering.  Fanny  Sturdy  was  making 
Florence  Japp  laugh  immoderately  just  as  the  Dane 
Court  carriage  pulled  up,  and  Ally  Spice,  in  gray  and 
blue,  looking  ineffable,  twittered  about  conspicuously. 
It  should  have  done  everybody's  heart  good  to  see  a  fel- 
low-creature in  such  a  state  of  bliss,  but  some  of  the 
dolorous  dowagers  who  drank  Miss  Spice's  tea  and  ate 
her  buttered  toast  when  it  suited  their  own  convenience 
and  pleasure  felt  anything  but  pleased  to  see  her  so. 
When  she  minueted  up  to  them  with  her  nervous  smile 
you  would  have  thought  she  had  taken  a  liberty.  It 
was  all  very  well  to  ask  her  on  these  occasions,  of  course, 
but  it  was  quite  another  thing  for  her  to  expect  to  be 
countenanced.  From  the  younger  ladies,  however,  in 
whom  hope  of  change  was  not  yet  extinguished,  and 
for  whom  life  still  seemed  to  contain  some  promise  of 

1 06 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

joy,  Miss  Spice  was  receiving  the  most  exhilarating 
consideration  that  day.  It  was  her  moment,  and  she 
was  enjoying  it  thoroughly.  Florence  Japp  and  Fanny 
Sturdy  took  possession  of  her  now. 

"Ally,  tell  us  about  him — do  !"  said  Fanny  Sturdy, 
and  then  they  tittered,  all  three  of  them,  as  at  something 
exceedingly  whimsical. 

Mr.  Normanton  hurried  down  the  steps  to  hand  Mrs. 
Kingconstance  from  her  carriage..  He  was  a  red-faced, 
fussy  little  man,  a  sort  of  as-it-was-in-the-beginning-is- 
now-and-ever-shall-be  little  man,  whose  conversation 
revolved  in  a  cycle  of  commonplaces.  All  the  days  of 
his  life  he  had  conducted  himself  like  a  decent  country 
gentleman,  so  far  as  anybody  knew,  and  at  night  he 
drank  too  much  whiskey. 

"  How  are  you,  Mrs.  Kingconstance  ?"  he  exclaimed, 
with  effusion.  "  So  good  of  you  to  come  !  Jolly  day, 
isn't  it  ?  You'll  find  all  your  friends  here.  Take  my 
arm  and  come  and  have  some  tea.  Jarvis,  take  Miss 
Julia." 

Julia  looked  anything  but  enthusiastic,  for  Jarvis 
Normanton  was  only  about  twenty,  and  no  great  catch. 
Somebody  of  maturer  years  and  with  fairer  prospects 
would  have  pleased  her  better. 

The  tea-rooms  were  crowded,  and  Mrs.  Kingconstance 
preferred  to  sit  in  the  hall.  There  she  became  instantly 
aware  of  the  presence  of  a  tall  gentleman  of  distinguish- 
ed appearance  whom  she  did  not  recognize. 

*  Who  is  that  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  you  know,"  Mr  Normanton  replied,  glancing 
over  his  shoulder  at  him.  "  What's  the  fellow's  name  ? 
Always  forget  it.  Looks  rather  out  of  it,  doesn't  he  ? 
New  to  the  neighborhood,  you  know — hasn't  met  many 
people  yet.  Interesting  man — seen  a  good  deal.  Shall 
I  introduce  him  ?" 

Before  Mrs.  Kingconstance  could  reply,  he  had  hur- 

107 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

ried  away,  and  was  returning  with  the  distinguished- 
looking  stranger. 

"  Mrs.  Kingconstance,  let  me  introduce — "  Mumble, 
mumble,  was  what  followed  ;  but  Mrs.  Kingconstance 
bowed  graciously,  and  the  salutation  of  the  distinguish- 
ed-looking stranger  was  profound. 

"  I  have  heard  of  Mrs.  Kingconstance,"  he  observed, 
and  Mrs.  Kingconstance  felt  that  volumes  could  not  con- 
vey all  the  admirable  things  concerning  her  that  were 
in  his  mind  at  the  moment. 

"  Oh  !"  she  said,  archly.  "  I  am  afraid  some  one  has 
been  creating  a  prejudice." 

"  Yes,"  he  solemnly  rejoined  ;  ."  a  prejudice  which  has 
made  me — long — for  this  moment." 

A  pleasurable  sensation  laid  hold  of  Mrs.  Kingcon- 
stance. 

"  You  have  the  advantage  of  me,"  she  said,  smiling 
up  at  him  brightly. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  again,  unexpectedly ;  "  I  have 
the  privilege  of  making  your  acquaintance.  To  meet 
me  is  to  meet  a  mere  nobody — a  poor  traveller  who  has 
seen  something,  certainly  ;  but  what  of  that  ?  A  man 
may  spend  his  life  in  seeking  distraction,  and  may  even 
secure  distinction  ;  but  with  what  object  ?  He  returns 
to  civilization,  and,  lo !  there  is  a  beautiful  woman !  She 
has  never  left  her  home ;  she  has  done  nothing — she 
has  no  need  to  do  anything  ;  she  has  only  to  be  herself. 
And  all  the  man's  honors  are  laid  at  her  feet.  He  offers 
them  all — to  win  a  smile.  May  I  take  your  cup  ?" 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  surrendered  the  cup. 

"  Of  course,"  she  said,  "  it  is  exactly  as  you  say — for- 
tunately for  women.  We  have  only  to  be  ourselves." 

"Ah  !"  the  distinguished-looking  stranger  ejaculated, 
and  again  he  expressed  volumes.  But  he  was  towering 
above  Mrs.  Kingconstance  as  she  sat  there  on  a  centre 
ottoman,  and  there  was  awkwardness  in  the  attitude. 

1 08 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Won't  you  sit  down  ?"  she  said,  considerately. 

He  bowed  low,  and  then  drew  up  a  chair. 

"  I  came  from  Paris  last/'  he  observed.  "  What  won- 
derful people  the  French  are  !  You  must  go  to  France 
for  the  refinements  of  life.  Here  we  are  rich,  lavish,  ex- 
travagant. We  have  everything,  but  we  have  too  much 
of  it.  We  gorge.  Our  houses  are  gorged  with  furni- 
ture, our  walls  with  pictures,  our  tables  with  flowers, 
our  shop  windows  with  heterogeneous  collections  of  in- 
congruous articles  ;  and  when  we  give  a  dinner,  we 
gorge  our  friends  with  foods  and  wines.  The  Japanese 
offer  you  one  picture  at  a  time  to  contemplate,  one  flower. 
The  French  provoke  your  appetite  with  one  dish ;  but 
that  dish  is  perfect — you  never  forget  it.  You  would 
go  back  to  Paris  for  the  pleasure  of  eating  it,  and  wait 
for  it  till — er — till  it  was  ready.  It  is  in  Paris  you  real- 
ize what  daintiness  is,  what  refinement  is  in  food.  Each 
plat  has  its  own  aesthetic  value.  Give  us  Paris,  I  say, 
before  we  grow  old — Paris  and  a  cordon  bleu,  Paris  and 
la  haute  cuisine — the  good  things  of  this  world,  so  as,  in 
due  time,  we  may  enjoy  them." 

He  spoke  slowly,  rounding  each  word  as  if  it  were  in 
itself  a  delicious  morsel  to  be  swallowed  as  soon  as  pro- 
nounced. 

There  was  something  highly  exhilarating  to  Mrs. 
Kingconstance  in  these  allusions  to  the  haute  cuisine. 
It  was  essentially  the  proper  thing  to  discuss  in  connec- 
tion with  Paris,  as  seen  by  the  affluent  and  cultivated. 
To  know  what  French  cooking  is  was  an  introduction 
in  itself  ;  and  Mrs.  Kingconstance  was  so  thoroughly 
interested  that  she  was  about  to  become  expansive, 
when  the  stranger  suddenly  rose,  excused  himself,  and 
went  direct  to  greet  the  gaunt,  gray  Lady  May,  who 
had  just  entered  the  hall. 

Other  people  came  up  and  began  to  talk  to  Mrs.  King- 
constance, and  she  was  obliged  to  respond  to  their  atten- 

109 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

tions  ;  but  all  they  said  fell  very  flat  after  the  brilliant 
remarks  of  the  distinguished-looking  stranger,  and  she 
hoped  that  he  would  return  to  her.  He  did  not,  how- 
ever. He  took  no  more  notice  of  her,  in  fact,  and  she 
was  somewhat  piqued.  It  was  so  seldom  she  met  a  man 
who  was  interesting,  and  this  was  evidently  a  thorough 
man  of  the  world.  Paris,  Japan,  the  haute  cuisine — he 
might  be  an  ambassador  !  She  must  get  him  to  call 
upon  her. 

"  How  do  you  like  Mr.  Jellybond  ?"  Mrs  Normanton 
broke  in  upon  her  meditations. 

"  Oh,  that  was  Mr.  Jellybond,  was  it  ?"  said  Mrs.  King- 
constance.  "  I'm  so  glad  you've  had  such  a  delightful 
day  for  your  party.  Where  is  Julia,  I  wonder  ?  It  is 
time  we  were  going,  is  Miss  Spice  still  here  ?  Ah, 
there  she  is.  Miss  Spice,  may  I  offer  you  a  seat  in  my 
carriage  ?" 

"  Really,  Mrs.  Kingconstance,"  Miss  Spice  twittered, 
excitedly,  "  you  are  too  kind." 

The  poor  little  woman  was  quite  overcome.  In  an- 
other moment  she  would  be  whirled  away  before  his  ad- 
miring eyes  by  prancing  horses  in  a  splendid  carriage 
— her  very  dream.  All  her  dreams  were  coming  true  at 
once  !  She  had  one  moment's  panic — lest  he  should  not 
see  her  depart ;  but  there  he  was  under  the  portico,  wait- 
ing to  hand  her — them — in.  And  how  he  bowed  as  they 
drove  off  !  Three  bows,  one  for  each  of  them.  Julia 
never  thought  of  giving  up  her  seat  beside  her  mother, 
so  poor  little  Miss  Spice  had  to  take  the  back  seat ;  but 
that  was  an  advantage,  because  she  could  see  him  stand- 
ing there,  with  his  heels  clicked  together,  clasping  his 
hat  to  his  heart,  till  the  turn  hid  the  house  and  him 
from  sight. 

"  How  very  kind  of  you  !"  she  ejaculated  once  more,  in 
a  happy  flow  of  gratitude. 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance.  "  By-the-way, 

no 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

what  was  it  you  were  telling  us  the  other  day  about  Mr. 
Jellybond  ?     You  know  him  very  well,  don't  you  ?" 

Miss  Spice  blushed,  simpered,  .and  began  ;  and  be- 
fore they  reached  the  cottage  at  the  cross  roads,  Mrs. 
Kingconstance  was  in  possession  of  all  that  Miss  Spice 
knew,  hoped,  and  suspected. 

Miss  Spice  was  too  excited  to  go  in  when  Mrs.  King- 
constance left  her  at  the  Cross  Roads  Cottage.  She 
waited  at  the  garden  gate  till  the  carriage  was  out  of 
sight,  and  then  she  picked  up  her  mouse-gray  skirts  be- 
tween the  finger  and  thumb  of  each  hand,  extended  her 
arms,  and  so  seemed  to  sail  away  down  the  road  which 
led  to  the  village.  She  did  not  know  what  possessed 
her,  but  she  felt  she  must  take  that  road. 

It  was  an  enchanting  scene.  Low  down  on  the  hori- 
zon the  setting  sun  shone  out,  casting  long  shadows  of 
the  old  gnarled  trees  upon  the  grass,  and  changing  the 
heavy  atmosphere  of  the  late  afternoon  into  a  lumi- 
nous green  haze.  There  was  a  strange  hush  over  the 
land.  Horses  and  oxen  stood  motionless  in  the  fields, 
and  the  birds  were  still.  Miss  Spice  herself  was  the 
only  moving  thing,  and  she  felt  as  if  the  medium 
which  held  her  were  something  other  than  the  air  of 
earth.  She  was  in  a  tense  state,  a  state  of  expectation. 
Nothing  that  might  have  happened  would  have  sur- 
prised her  ;  only  if  nothing  had  happened  would  she 
have  been  surprised.  But  something  did  happen  ;  for 
presently,  down  the  long  lane,  under  the  old  elm-trees, 
she  saw  her  hero  approaching.  She  felt  that  the  world 
stood  still  in  suspense  to  see  them  meet. 

He  took  off  his  hat  and  held  it  high  to  greet  her. 

"Ah,  dear  lady,"  he  said,  "  what  a  happy  coincidence  ! 
The  world  is  not  such  a  weary  place  as  the  dolorous  mis- 
anthropes would  have  us  suppose.  I  was  just  thinking 
about  you." 

"  Indeed  !"  said  Miss  Spice. 

in 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Yes.  But  permit  me  to  accompany  you  back. "  Miss 
Spice  turned  about  as  on  a  pivot.  "  Your  way — the  way 
you  came — is  much  sweeter  than  my  way.  Now  is  it 
not  a  strange  coincidence  that  we  should  both  have 
come  out  for  a  little  stroll  this  evening  ?  I  wanted  to 
see  you.  I  was  on  my  way  to  call  upon  you.  But  how 
much  better  this  is — to  meet  here — in  the  untrammelled 
open.  It  is  an  ill  wind  that  blows — er — nowhere.  You 
enjoyed  the  party  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  indeed." 

"And  the  drive  home  with  that  lady,  Mrs. — er — " 

"  Mrs.  Kingconstance." 

"  Thank  you,  yes.  I  remember  now — Mrs.  Kingcon- 
stance. A  widow,  is  she  not  ?" 

"  Yes,  in  her  own  right,"  said  Miss  Spice.     "  I  mean — " 

She  did  not  know  what  she  meant. 

The  path  was  narrow.  The  evening  was  closing  in. 
Mr.  Jellybond  looked  about  him.  There  was  nobody  in 
sight. 

"  You  must  be  fatigued,"  he  said.     "  Take  my  arm." 

Without  waiting  for  her  consent,  he  drew  her  hand 
through  his  arm  in  a  masterful  way,  and  held  it 
there. 

Miss  Spice  nearly  swooned.  Then  she  was  conscious 
of  a  delicious  glow.  The  firm  clasp  of  his  large  hand 
stimulated  her  feeble  circulation.  She  had  begun  life 
with  a  healthy  appetite  for  everything,  and  had  suf- 
fered from  enforced  abstinence,  from  semi-starvation  of 
every  function  and  every  faculty.  But  now,  in  a  mo- 
ment, she  felt  alive  for  once — only  too  much  alive.  She 
was  intoxicated,  irresponsible. 

They  walked  on  together  in  silence  for  a  little,  then  he 
gave  her  hand  a  little  squeeze. 

"  I  suppose  you  discussed  the  people  and  the  party  all 
the  way  home  ?"  he  observed. 

"  We  discussed  one  person,"  she  answered,  archly. 

112 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"Ah  !  Was  there  only  one  worth  discussing  ?"  he 
asked. 

She  smiled  up  at  him.  He  was  holding  his  head  high 
in  the  air,  as  usual,  but  saw  her  out  of  the  corner  of 
his  eye.  Little  Miss  Spice  was  transfigured.  Her 
nerves  had  helped  themselves  to  his  vitality,  her  youth 
was  renewed.  For  the  moment  she  was  worth  looking 
at,  and  Mr.  Jellybond  smiled  down  upon  her. 

"  Were  you  defending  the  luckless  stranger  against 
a  prejudiced  person  in  your  own  sweet  womanly  way  ?" 
he  asked. 

"  There  was  no  need  to  defend,"  said  Miss  Spice.  "  I 
had  only  to  satisfy  natural  interest.  Every  prejudice 
has  been  swept  away  by  the  stranger's  own  charming 
personality." 

"  I  fear  it  was  curiosity,  not  interest,  the  lady  showed," 
he  said,  sadly.  "  It  is  hard  to  be  misunderstood." 

"  Oh  no,  I  assure  you,"  said  little  Miss  Spice,  eager 
to  console.  "  She  said  something — something  about  an 
acquisition  to  the  neighborhood — she  did,  indeed.  She 
hopes  to  see  you  again." 

Mr.  Jellybond  surveyed  the  heavens. 

"  How  sweet  the  shade  is  here,  under  the  trees  !"  he 
ejaculated ;  "  and  how  sweet  the  evening  calm  !  It 
steals  over  us,  drawing  us  closer."  He  put  his  arm 
round  her  and  pressed  her  to  his  side.  "Ah  1"  he  sigh- 
ed audibly. 

Miss  Spice's  head  sank  upon  his  shoulder.  This  was 
love  at  last. 

Once  more,  cautiously,  the  dear  man  looked  round, 
and  then,  the  coast  being  clear,  he  raised  her  little,  glori- 
fied face  to  his,  and  imprinted  a  kiss  on  her  lips. 
H  113 


CHAPTER    XII 

HESITANCY  was  not  one  of  Mr.  Jellybond's 
weaknesses.  The  very  next  day  he  called  at 
Dane  Court,  and  was  shown  into  the  big  draw- 
ing-room. The  sun  shone  bright  outside,  but 
the  room  was  shady,  with  half-drawn  blinds,  and  there 
was  no  one  in  it.  It  was  a  fine  apartment — one  of  a 
suite,  from  which  it  was  curtained  off.  Mr.  Jellybond 
looked  about  him  admiringly  ;  then,  as  no  one  appeared, 
he  began  to  walk  about  on  tiptoe — a  way  he  had — ex- 
amining and  peeping  into  everything,  but  more  like  an 
auctioneer  appraising  the  value  than  a  virtuoso  admir- 
ing the  beauty  of  the  objects.  He  touched  the  frames 
of  pictures,  studied  the  signatures  of  the  artists  who  had 
painted  them,  rather  than  the  subjects,  ran  his  fingers 
lightly  down  china  vasesr  balanced  bits  of  lacquer  to 
test  their  weight,  took  off  the  lids  of  boxes  and  peered 
in,  and  felt  the  texture  of  the  rich  silk  hangings  ;  and 
all  with  incredible  speed  and  agility,  considering  his  age 
and  size.  Ordinarily  he  moved  with  extreme  delibera- 
tion, but  during  these  first  few  minutes  alone  in  the 
great  drawing-room  at  Dane  Court  he  skipped  about 
like  a  school-boy,  and  the  effect  was  pleasantly  incon- 
gruous. 

Presently  he  became  conscious  of  some  movement  in 
the  next  apartment,  and  stopped  short  in  his  gambols. 
He  was  extremely  watchful  by  nature,  and  even  slight 
commotions,  which  other  people  would  not  have  no- 
ticed, seldom  escaped  him.  Being  near  a  picture  hung 

114 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

low  on  the  wall,  he  instantly  fell  into  the  attitude  of  a 
connoisseur,  and,  stooping,  peered  into  it  through  his 
double  gold-rimmed  eyeglass  with  rapt  attention.  But 
his  ears  were  open.  It  would  be  more  accurate,  how- 
ever, to  say  that  he  felt  rather  than  heard  the  faint  frou- 
frou of  trailing  drapery,  and  became  aware  of  a  leisurely 
footfall.  With  an  easy,  natural  gesture,  as  if  he  had 
satisfied  his  interest  in  the  picture,  he  folded  his  eye- 
glass and  turned  round.  He  had  expected  to  see  Mrs. 
Kingconstance,  but  found  himself  face  to  face  with  a 
tall,  slight,  elegant  lady  in  fawn-colored  draperies  who 
was  eying  him  critically.  Mr.  Jellybond  was  unpre- 
pared for  this  vision.  He  had  not  heard  of  Miss  King- 
constance. But  Miss  Kingconstance  had  heard  a  good 
deal  about  him,  and  was  prepared  to  be  favorably  im- 
pressed. 

One  of  the  saddest  parts  of  the  sufferings  of  women  so 
situated— women,  that  is  to  say,  without  one  solid  aim 
or  satisfying  occupation  in  life — is  the  cruel  ache  of  ex- 
pectancy that  chronically  besets  them.  Their  days  are 
empty,  and  all  their  yearnings  unappeased.  The  strong- 
est side  of  their  nature,  being  artificially  suppressed,  be- 
comes an  importunate  agitator,  always  on  the  lookout 
for  occasions  on  which  to  assert  itself  ;  and  any  man 
may  make  the  occasion  Their  hope  is  therefore  tow- 
ards every  man  who  may  chance  to  come  into  their  lives. 
Poor  little  Miss  Spice  was  bound  to  succumb  to  the  first 
who  held  his  arms  out  to  her.  She  was  incapable  of 
criticism.  Her  nature  was  largely  loving,  her  faith  and 
charity  were  excessive,  her  knowledge  of  life  nil. 

Miss  Kingconstance  was  of  another  temperament. 
Miss  Spice,  by  making  peace-offerings  of  her  amiable 
little  heart  to  everybody  about  her,  had  reaped  the  re- 
ward of  those  who  give,  and  so  kept  her  mind  sweet  and 
wholesome  ;  the  ache  of  expectancy  she  eased  with 
pleasant  day-dreams,  in  which  was  never  a  villain.  Miss 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

Kingconstance  had  no  such  resource.  The  life  of  sup- 
pression had  told  upon  the  softer  side  of  her  nature  and 
embittered  her.  She  had  ceased  to  care  ;  she  found  no 
solace  either  in  loving  or  in  being  loved  ;  all  her  heart 
was  concentrated  on  a  great  craving  for  she  knew  not 
what,  and  because  this  great  craving  was  unappeased 
she  felt  herself  an  ill-used  woman,  and  was  more  apt  to 
owe  a  grudge  than  to  offer  affection.  Her  self-con- 
sciousness, grown  morbid,  was  forever  on  the  alert, 
looking  into  other  people's  defects,  and  suspecting  them 
of  evil  intent  towards  herself.  But  it  was  this  survival 
of  her  critical  faculty  that  saved  her  from  the  danger 
which  threatened  Miss  Spice. 

Miss  Kingconstance  might  hope  to  find  her  hero  in 
every  man  she  met,  but  she  was  not  to  be  imposed  upon 
by  mock  heroics,  even  when,  as  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Jelly- 
bond,  she  was  prepared  to  be  favorably  impressed. 

Her  first  impression  of  him  was  not  unsatisfactory  ; 
he  was  really  a  fine-looking  man  of  a  portly  kind,  clean 
shaven,  and  of  dignified  demeanor.  He  was  dressed 
like  a  country  gentleman,  only  the  costume,  if  any- 
thing, was  too  scrupulously  exact.  He  looked  like  a 
country  gentleman  on  the  stage,  everything  he  wore 
was  so  exceedingly  correct. 

He  bowed  low  to  Miss  Kingconstance.  She  acknowl- 
edged the  salute  stiffly,  then  sank  into  a  chair. 

"  Mr.  Jelly  bond  ?"  she  observed. 

"  Yes,  madam,"  he  rejoined,  bowing  again  profound- 
ly ;  then,  in  the  hope  of  discovering  who  she  was,  he 
remarked  :  "  You  have  the  advantage  of  me,  if  1  may 
venture  to  say  so." 

"  Yes, "she  answered,  in  her  languid  drawl,  still  fixing 
him  with  hard  eyes.  "  Sit  down,  please." 

Mr.  Jellybond  obeyed. 

A  pause  ensued. 

When  one  is  with  a  stranger  to  whom  one  ought  to  be 

116 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

talking,  silence  teases  the  brain  ;  it  is  an  effort  to  break 
it,  and  tiresome  to  let  it  continue.  But  Mr.  Jellybond 
cast  about  in  his  mind  vainly  for  something  to  say.  He 
was  in  the  awkward  position  of  not  knowing  where  he 
was  with  this  strange  lady.  She  came  to  the  rescue. 

"  How  do  you  find  it  here  ?"  she  said.  "  Can  you  keep 
yourself  quiet  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  thank  you — tolerably/'  he  stammered. 

"  That's  right"  she  said.  "  Quiet  is  my  mania  just 
now.  Every  sound  gets  on  .my  nerves — even  the  grit 
of  my  own  teeth, when  1  crunch  anything  crisp.  1  wish 
we  could  inhale  our  dinners." 

"  Indeed/'  said  he,  with  an  air  of  deep  interest,  but 
utterty  at  a  loss. 

"  You  take  me  too  seriously /'said  Miss  Kingconstance. 
"  Couldn't  you  see  that  that  was  nonsense  ?  Is  no- 
body ever  flippant  in  your  family  ?" 

"Ah,  in  my  family/'  he  answered,  solemnly,  then 
sighed,  preparatory  to  trying  the  tactics  which  had  suc- 
ceeded so  well  with  the  guileless  Miss  Spice.  *  In  my 
family  there  were  circumstances  —  sorrowful  circum- 
stances, 1  may  say — which  effectually  silenced — " 

*  Well,  don't  silence  me  with  them,"  Miss  Kingcon- 
stance interrupted.     "  1  want  to  hear  about  agreeable 
things.     Tell  me  about  yourself.     What  does  a  man's 
family  matter,  after  all  ?" 

"  Quite  so,"  said  Mr.  Jellybond.  *  Personal  experi- 
ence is  the  most  instructive — " 

*  Oh,  don't  instruct  me/'  said  Miss  Kingconstance. 
"  1  want  to  be  amused." 

He  set  a  large  smile  upon  his  face,  and  braced  him- 
self to  the  task. 

"  Seeing  you  as  you  are  now,"  said  Miss  Kingcon- 
stance, "  makes  me  think  of  a  passage  in  Browning." 

He  looked  gratified. 

"  Yes,"  Miss  Kingconstance  proceeded : 

117 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  'Oh,  good,  gigantic  smile  o'  the  brown  old  earth 
This  autumn  morning.'" 

All  the  complacency  went  out  of  Mr.  Jellybond's 
face. 

"  What  an  extinguisher  !"  said  Miss  Kingconstance. 
"  1  want  to  know  why  it  is,  when  one  is  reminded  of  a 
quotation  by  a  person,  and  says  so,  the  person  always 
expects  something  nice  ?" 

"  1  wonder,"  was  all  that  his  elephantine  wit  accom- 
plished. 

Miss  Kingconstance  laughed. 

"  You  missed  an  opportunity  there,"  she  said. 

"  Indeed,"  said  Mr.  Jelly  bond,  feeling  more  and  more 
uncomfortable. 

"  Yes  ;  you  should  have  risen  to  the  occasion  with 
another  quotation.  You  should  have  said  reproach- 
fully that,  had  you  told  me  what  passage  /  reminded 
you  of,  it  would  have  been  something  very  different. 
Then  1  should  have  pressed  you  to  tell  me,  and,  after  a 
little  coquettish  diffidence,  you  might  have  said  that  1 
inspired 

"'The  desire  of  the  moth  for  the  star, 

Of  the  night  for  the  morrow, 
The  devotion  to  something  afar 
From  the  sphere  of  our  sorrow.' 

or  something  to  that  effect." 

"  Oh,  really,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Jellybond,  busy  making  a 
mental  note  of  the  position  for  future  emergencies. 

"  There  you  are  again,"  said  Miss  Kingconstance, 
leaning  back  in  her  chair  and  laughing  softly.  "That's 
another  opportunity  lost !" 

"  1  fail  to  see — "  Mr.  Jellybond  began,  in  his  most  pon- 
derous manner. 

"  Oh,  obviously  1"  said  Miss  Kingconstance.  "  Why, 
my  good  man,  when  1  made  that  quotation,  you  could 

1 1 8, 


BABS      THE      IMPOSSIBLE 

have  remedied  your  first  mistake  with  three  words. 
When  1  had  suggested  to  you  that  1  inspired 

"'  '  The  devotion  to  something  afar 
From  the  sphere  of  our  sorrow," 

you  had  only  to  answer  with  a  convincing  affectation  of 
earnestness,  '  So  you  do  !'  and  behold  your  error  re- 
paired. 1  should  have  smiled  coyly  at  the  compliment, 
and  cordially  at  your  aptness.  Aptness  is  inspiriting. 
The  bucolic  mind  to  which  we  are  accustomed  here  is 
not  apt  to  gambol.  1  am  asking  myself  what  on  earth 
brought  you  here  ?" 

"  My  life  has  been  eventful/'  he  answered.  "  1  seek 
peace  and  quietness,  and  leisure  for  study  and  the  pur- 
suit of  art." 

"  Green-grocers,  when  they  have  made  their  money, 
come  into  the  country  to  cultivate  contentment  and  cab- 
bages," Miss  Kingconstance  pursued,  ignoring  the  in- 
terruption. "  But  you  were  not  a  green-grocer,  1  should 
say.  Now  what  were  you  ?" 

"A  great  traveller,"  he  answered,  with  a  ring  of  sad- 
ness in  his  voice.  "  I  came  from  going  to  and  fro  in  the 
earth  and  from  wandering  up  and  down  in  it." 

"  Only,  1  suppose,  you  went  for  commercial  purposes?" 
said  Miss  Kingconstance. 

"  Heaven  forbid  !"  said  Mr.  Jelly  bond. 

"  Why  ?" 

Mr.  Jellybond,  at  a  loss  for  a  reason,  uttered  a  pained 
ejaculation. 

"  You  make  a  noise  like  a  wondering  hen,"  said  Miss 
Kingconstance.  "  But  there,  1  won't  torment  you.  1 
quite  understand  about  your  having  been  a  great  trav- 
eller ;  nobody  could  call  you  a  little  one  ;  and  on  the 
same  principle  you  will  be  a  great  acquisition  to  the 
neighborhood,  as  my  sister-in-law  says.  You  will  make 
amusement  for  me,  too.  My  wits  are  always  at  their 

119 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

best  when  1  have  a  solid  substance  to  strike  them  on. 
You  positively  make  me  sparkle." 

The  words  were  light,  but  there  was  a  bored  look  in 
her  face  as  she  uttered  them,  and  she  glanced  round 
as  if  she  were  casting  about  in  her  own  mind  for  an  ex- 
cuse to  escape. 

A  footman  entered  at  the  moment,  and  announced 
that  Mrs.  Kingconstance  would  be  pleased  to  see  Mr. 
Jellybond  if  he  would  "  be  good  enough  to  step  this 
way." 

He  arose  with  alacrity. 

"  You  certainly  are  no  courtier/'  Miss  Kingconstance 
observed. 

Perceiving  that  he  had  failed  for  the  third  time  to  rise 
to  the  occasion,  he  bowed  low  before  her,  looked  into  her 
face  a  moment  sourly,  then  followed  the  footman  out  of 
the  room  in  dignified  silence.  It  was  a  clever  exit,  and 
Miss  Kingconstance  appreciated  it.  His  very  coat-tails 
waggled  with  offended  dignity.  She  felt  that  she  had 
gone  too  far,  and  was  disconcerted.  His  self-restraint 
commanded  her  respect  whether  she  would  or  not.  "  But 
1  don't  believe  in  you,  all  the  same,"  she  reflected,  pet- 
ulantly, "  and  why  you  are  being  received  in  the  bou- 
doir, the  inner  sanctum  reserved  for  intimates — you,  -a 
new-comer,  whom  nobody  knows  anything  about  as 
yet — I  cannot  conceive.  My  dear  sister-in-law,  you 
should  be  more  circumspect." 

In  the  boudoir  a  very  different  reception  awaited  Mr. 
Jellybond.  The  cosey  richness  of  the  room,  with  its 
silken  draperies,  deep-seated  easy-chairs,  great  down 
cushions,  pictures,  china,  ormolu,  and  buhl,  all  aglow 
in  the  cheery  light  of  a  scented  cedar-wood  fire,  and  the 
handsome  lady's  cordial  greeting  set  him  at  his  ease 
at  once.  This  was  luxury  at  last,  the  kind  of  luxury 
to  which  he  had  always  aspired — high-bred,  perfect — 

120 


"  '  YOU   ARE   QUITE   A   PALMIST  '  " 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

the  real  thing  !  Mrs.  Kingconstance  saw  admiration 
in  his  face,  deep  and  reverential  ;  she  saw  also  that  he 
was  a  fine-looking  man  under  fifty,  and  she  glowed  as 
she  had  not  glowed  for  years. 

The  conversation  was  all  smiles.  In  a  very  short 
time  Mrs.  Kingconstance  was  absolutely  flirting,  and 
she  knew  it,  and  liked  it,  naughty  lady  !  The  mere 
presence  of  this  burly  stranger,  from  out  of  the  un- 
known, animated  her  more  than  all  the  homage  she  had 
ever  received  from  the  county  gentlemen  round  about. 
They  proceeded  to  discuss  many  good  things,  including 
good  cooking.  Mr.  Jellybond  professed  to  be  an  excel- 
lent cook.  Mrs.  Kingconstance  really  could  not  be- 
lieve it.  He  offered  to  cook  a  little  dinner  in  her  honor 
one  day  to  prove  it — any  day  she  would  fix — if  she  would 
deign  to  visit  his  small  abode.  Glancing  round  he  per- 
ceived that  she  was  fond  of  pretty  things,  and  he  had 
some  few  pretty  things  himself — objets  d'art — which  he 
would  venture  to  say  might  interest  her. 

But  now,  really,  could  he  cook  ?  How  had  he  learned 
it? 

"  1  think  every  gentleman  should  know  how  to  cook," 
he  answered,  playfully. 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  used  her  beautiful  hands  a  good 
deal  in  talking,  and  Mr.  Jellybond's  eyes  rested  on  them 
incessantly.  She  could  not  help  observing  this.  The 
fixity  of  his  gaze  positively  embarrassed  her  at  last,  and 
she  sought  modestly  to  make  her  hands  less  conspicuous 
by  folding  them. 

"Ah,  that  is  unkind,"  he  said,  then  he  sighed  heavily. 
"  Shall  1  tell  you  why  I  cannot  take  my  eyes  off  your 
hands?  You  would  never  guess  the  reason.  It  is  not 
because  they  are  so  beautiful — that  one  can  see  at  a 
glance ;  it  is  not  because  they  are  kind,  although  1  am  sure 
they  are  kind ;  it  is  not  for  the  mesmeric  quality  there 
so  often  is  in  a  beautiful  woman's  hands  ;  it  is  because 

121 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

they  are  exactly  the  same  shape  as  my  mother's  were. 
She  was  a  very  lovely  woman,  exquisitely  proportioned 
— I  may  say  it  without  offence,  1  hope — and  your  hand 
exactly  resembles  hers — " 

"  How  strange !"  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance,  much 
touched. 

"  Exactly,  so  far  as  1  can  see.   May  I  look  at  the  palm?" 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  held  out  her  soft  pink  palm  with 
a  coy  little  smile.  Mr.  Jellybond  gazed  into  it. 

"The  lines,  so  far  as  1  can  see,  are  not  similar,"  he 
observed ;  "  but  may  1  just — " 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  she  answered,  with  an  affectation  of 
not  being  affected  about  it. 

He  took  her  hand  in  his,  respectfully,  squeezed  it  to- 
gether to  make  one  line  clearer,  opened  it  out  to  see 
another. 

"  You  are  quite  a  palmist,"  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance. 
"Do  tell  me  my  fate!" 

"  N-no,  1  am  not  a  palmist — not  quite,"  he  answered. 
"  1  only  know  enough  to  see  something  unusual  in  your 
hand.  1  cannot  tell  what  it  is.  1  should  very  much  like 
to  know." 

He  clasped  her  hand  in  both  of  his,  and  held  it  so, 
absently. 

"  So  should  1,"  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance,  making  a 
feint  to  withdraw  it  and  blushing. 

He  bent  towards  her  and  lowered  his  voice  confiden- 
tially, taking  a  firm  grip  of  her  hand  as  though  to  em- 
phasize his  words. 

"  1  know  a  palmist,"  he  said,  "  an  excellent  one." 

"  Oh,  do  you  ?"  she  ejaculated,  making  another  little 
move  to  withdraw  her  hand. 

He  opened  it  and  looked  into  it  again. 

"  Of  course  it  is  great  nonsense,"  he  declared  ;  "  but  I 
should  so  like  to  know  what  these  lines  mean.  I  have 
something  of  the  same  kind  in  my  own  hand." 

122 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Have  you  really  ?"  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance.  "  Of 
course  one  doesn't  believe  in  that  kind  of  thing  ;  but 
just  for  fun,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  quite  so — just  for  fun/'  he  echoed. 

Then  he  restored  her  hand  to  her. 

"  Where  does  your  palmist  live  ?"  she  inquired. 

"  I  hardly  know,  but  if  I  come  across  her — " 

"  Let  me  know,  just  for  fun." 

They  smiled  at  each  other  again,  confidentially,  and 
Mrs.  Kingconstance  stroked  her  own  hand.  The  poor 
thing  felt  quite  out  in  the  cold,  somehow,  since  it  had 
been  restored  to  her. 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  continued  to  smile  long  after  Mr. 
Jellybond  withdrew.  She  walked  up  and  down  the 
room  reflecting,  and  several  times  she  stopped  and  looked 
at  herself  in  a  mirror,  and  patted  her  beautiful  abundant 
black  hair  with  the  palms  of  her  hands,  and  felt  well 
pleased  with  herself. 

And  Mr.  Jellybond  was  also  well  pleased. 

123 


CHAPTER    XIII 

THE  immediate  consequence  of  Mrs.  Kingcon- 
stance's  cordiality  was  that  doors  which  would 
have  been  obstinately  shut  to  Mr.  Jelly  bond,  and 
others  which  would  have  been  only  half-opened, 
were  flung  wide,  and  he  found  himself  received  without 
suspicion  into  the  best  set  in  the  county.  Thereupon  he 
blossomed  forth  magnificently.  The  Swiss  Cottage  be- 
came a  show-place,  «and  it  was  as  if  the  vale  itself  had 
expanded  to  make  room  for  it,  so  much  space  did  it  occupy 
in  the  estimation  of  every  one.  In  general  conversation 
even  Cadenhouse  became  a  secondary  subject,  all  the 
interest  being  concentrated  on  Mr.  Jellybond  ;  his  ap- 
pearance, so  suggestive  of  the  grand  manner ;  his  habits, 
which  were  said  to  be  highly  refined  ;  and  his  house, 
which  rumor  filled,  furnished,  and  decorated  with  every 
evidence  of  the  most  fastidious  taste,  as  taste  was  under- 
stood in  the  neighborhood.  It  is  true  that  there  were 
gentlemen  who  spoke  of  him  as  "  that  fellow  Jeltybond  " 
in  a  patronizing  way,  and  also  as  the  "  gorgeous  Jelly- 
bond  "  sarcastically,  behind  his  back  ;  t>ut  there  was  a 
certain  dignity  about  the  man,  due  to  his  fine  appearance 
and  grave  demeanor,  which  effectually  checked  any  in- 
clination to  take  liberties  when  he  was  present.  Ladies, 
who  would  certainly  have  tried  to  make  him  useful  in 
the  tame-cat  capacity  but  for  his  impressive  mien,  found 
themselves  forced  to  respect  him.  To  all  women,  in  pub- 
lic, his  manner  was  reverential,  but  in  private — well,  he 
had  acquired  the  art  of  answering  to  expectation.  He 

124 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

knew  just  how  to  make  himself  agreeable.  Sometimes 
he  was  at  a  loss,  as  in  the  case  of  Miss  Kingconstance  ; 
but  his  extreme  natural  caution  saved  him  from  making 
mistakes,  and  as  a  rule  he  succeeded  with  quite  opposite 
characters,  just  as  he  had  succeeded  with  Miss  Spice 
and  Mrs.  Kingconstance. 

On  his  way  back  from  that  first  visit  to  Dane  Court  he 
overtook  Miss  Spice.  After  that  little  episode  the  evening 
before,  she  had  naturally  expected  him  to  come  and  see 
her,  and  had  waited  at  home  the  whole  afternoon  in  a 
delightful  state  of  agitation.  She  felt  herself  as  good 
as  engaged  to  him  already,  but  the  words  had  yet  to 
be  spoken.  She  did  not  doubt,  however,  but  that  they 
would  be  spoken  in  the  course  of  that  happy  day,  and  at 
first  she  was  all  in  a  blissful  tremor.  She  spent  the 
morning  at  the  lattice,  as  is  the  way  with  love-lorn  ladies, 
and  felt  that  all  was  as  it  should  be  ;  but  as  the  slow 
hours  slipped  round;  her  mind  misgave  her.  Late  in  the 
afternoon,  however,  Florence  Japp  came  in  and  men- 
tioned that  she  had  met  him,  and  he  had  told  her  that  he 
was  on  his  way  to  pay  a  duty  call  at  Dane  Court.  That 
saved  the  situation  so  far  as  Miss  Spice's  feelings  were 
concerned.  Of  course  he  must  do  his  duty.  When 
Florence  JappTiad  gone,  she  went  out  herself  and  loitered 
along  the  road  by  which  he  must  return,  and  tried  to  feel 
as  she  had  felt  the  evening  before  ;  but,  somehow,  all 
was  altered.  The  days  succeed  but  do  not  resemble 
each  other.  Yesterday  her  fondest  hopes  had  been  un- 
expectedly realized,  but  to-day  nothing  was  as  it  should 
have  been,  and  her  heart  sank. 

Then  there  was  a  step — a  firm,  leisurely  step.  She 
thought  she  would  have  recognized  it  among  a  thousand. 
At  first  she  was  for  running  away,  but  her  strength 
failed  her,  and  she  stopped  short. 

"Ally,"  he  said,  coming  up  to  her,  and  lifting  her  little 
cold  hand  from  her  side. 

125 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

She  looked  up  into  his  face,  and  again  her  own  was 
transfigured.  His  impulse  was  to  kiss  her,  but  he  re- 
frained. He  half  regretted  the  simple  indiscretion  of  the 
evening  before ;  but  it  was  a  habit  of  his  to  caress  women 
when  they  looked  nice  ;  he  really  could  not  help  it. 

"  Dear  little  Ally  !"  he  said,  squeezing  her  hand. 
"  May  I  call  you  so  ?  Ah,  me  !  Things  might  have 
been  very  different.  But  let  us  make  the  best  of  the  life 
that  is  left  us.  I  need  say  no  more,  I  know.  You  un- 
derstand my  horror  of  the  obvious  ?" 

Miss  Spice  thought  that  she  understood. 

"  Wait,"  he  proceeded;  "  that  is  what  I  have  to  say  to 
you." 

So  Miss  Spice  waited.  She  was  the  stepping-stone  by 
which  he  had  mounted  into  good  society,  and  at  first  he 
was  quite  assiduous  in  his  attentions  to  her — so  much  so, 
indeed,  as  to  give  her  good  reason  to  believe  that  it  would 
be  her  own  fault  if  she  did  not  eventually  become  mistress 
of  the  Swiss  Cottage.  But  he  began  of  necessity  to 
neglect  Miss  Spice  as  soon  as  his  footing  at  Dane  Court 
was  thoroughly  assured.  He  had  so  many  irons  in  the 
fire  by  that  time  he  could  not  attend  to  them  all ;  and  he 
judged  that  Miss  Spice  was  the  one  which  was  the  least 
likely  to  become  dangerously  overheated. 

Unfortunately,  Miss  Spice  did  not  perceive  that  she 
was  being  neglected.  He  was  always  exceedingly 
gracious  to  her  when  they  met,  and  would  even  toy  with 
her  a  little  in  secluded  spots  in  an  absent  way,  as  if  from 
a  sense  of  duty.  Most  women  wou!3  have  been  galled 
by  such  caresses,  but  they  were  sufficient  for  Miss  Spice. 
She  never  suspected  that  he  could  have  caressed  her 
without  returning  her  passion,  and  she  mistook  his 
coldness  for  respect.  She  was  entirely  under  the  in- 
fluence of  tales  of  knights  and  dames  of  yore,  and  sought 
to  model  her  own  conduct  and  to  account  for  his  by  what 

126 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

she  knew  of  theirs  under  similar  circumstances.  She 
expected  him  to  be  in  proper  lover-like  awe  of  her  for  the 
most  part,  and  also  to  forget  himself  now  and  then,  as  on 
that  first  never-to-be-forgotten  occasion  ;  and  she  knew 
that  she  should  conduct  herself  with  strictest  maidenly 
reserve  whatever  happened.  In  that  respect  she  felt 
that  she  had  been  remiss.  She  had  made  a  mistake  ; 
she  had  allowed  him  to  hope  too  soon,  and,  as  a  natural 
result,  he  had  shown  no  impatience.  She  must  repair 
that  error.  She  must  simulate  indifference  until,  unable 
to  support  the  turmoil  of  his  feelings  any  longer,  and 
determined  to  know  the  worst  even  though  it  should  be 
the  death  of  him,  he  would  fall  on  his  knees  before  her, 
and,  with  outstretched  hands,  confess  his  burning 
passion,  and  implore  her  pity.  Then,  and  not  till  then, 
she  would  shyly  confess  that  she,  too,  loved.  What 
would  follow  upon  this  momentous  disclosure  she  did  not 
quite  know.  Should  she  fall  into  his  arms  overcome 
with  emotion,  or  should  she  run  from  the  room  with  her 
long  ringlets  streaming  behind  her  ?  The  said  ringlets 
were  neither  so  long  nor  so  thick  as  Miss  Spice  sup- 
posed, but  by  putting  her  head  well  back  she  could  just 
manage  to  make  them  touch  the  top  of  her  waist-belt. 
She  assured  herself  of  this  fact  many  times  a  day 
by  shaking  back  her  hair  and  feeling  with  her  hand 
behind  her.  The  gesture  threatened  to  become  ha- 
bitual. 

In  those  days  Miss  Spice  was  happy  in  her  dreams, 
but  she  wanted  one  thing  —  a  confidant.  Half  the 
pleasure  of  the  position  was  lost  to  her  for  want  of  a  sym- 
pathetic friend  with  whom  to  discuss  it.  She  knew  that 
caution  was  necessary  ;  betrayal  might  be  fatal.  Cun- 
ning is  strength  to  the  weak.  Little  Miss  Spice  looked 
about  her.  She  thought  of  her  good  aunt,  Mrs.  Sophia 
Pepper,  who  spent  most  of  her  time  in  the  kitchen ;  and 
she  yearned  towards  her,  but  hesitated,  because  that  un- 

127 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

compromising  old  lady  had  not  the  cast  of  countenance 
which  invites  tender  confidences. 

"  But  surely,  surely/'  said  Miss  Spice  to  herself,  "  it  is 
most  fitting  that  she  should  know.  Is  she  not  in  the 
position  of  a  mother  to  me  ?" 

One  day,  accordingly,  in  a  sudden  paroxysm  of  hys- 
terical sentiment,  she  flung  her  arms  round  the  dear  old 
lady's  neck  and  sobbed  aloud  : 

"  Oh,  aunt,  1  love  him  !  1  love  him  I" 

Her  aunt  was  as  much  astonished  at  the  outburst  as 
Miss  Spice  could  have  wished.  There  was  a  dead  silence 
for  some  seconds,  broken  only  by  peculiar  noises  in  the 
old  lady's  throat.  Miss  Spice  thought  she  was  gasping 
with  emotion. 

"  Say  something  to  comfort  me,  dear  aunt,"  she  twit- 
tered. 

"  Comfort  you?"  the  old  lady  retorted,  tartly,  in  a  chok- 
ing voice.  "  I've  a  good  mind  to  shake  you.  You  near- 
ly made  me  swallow  my  teeth." 

And  for  an  hour  afterwards  she  grumbled  and  mut- 
tered, calling  her  niece  anything  but  clever,  and  quite 
ignoring  the  ingenuous  confession  which  had  so  nearly 
put  an  end  to  her  existence. 

Miss  Spice  never  dared  to  renew  the  attempt. 

The  cottage  at  the  Cross  Roads  had  no  attraction  for 
Mr.  Jellybond  after  he  became  intimate  at  Dane  Court. 
He  knew  the  intrinsic  value  of  its  contents ;  but  he  loved 
luxury,  warmth,  and  fatness,  and  hated  spindle-shanks, 
both  in  women  and  furniture  ;  so  that  poor  little  Miss 
Spice,  with  her  Sheraton  and  Chippendale,  her  self-de- 
nying habits  and  person  pinched  for  want  of  proper 
food,  rather  repelled  than  allured  him  after  Mrs.  King- 
constance,  in  ail  the  regal  amplitude  of  her  presence  and 
her  surroundings.  Still,  he  meant  to  be  kind  to  little 
Miss  Spice — it  was  his  way  to  be  kind  to  women  ;  he 
prided  himself  upon  that — and  he  called  at  the  cottage 

128 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

pretty  often.  He  paid  one  of  his  periodical  visits  soon 
after  Miss  Spice  had  so  signally  failed  to  find  a  confi- 
dant in  her  aunt.  He  permitted  himself  to  call  on  Sun- 
day, which  nobody  else  was  in  the  habit  of  doing  there- 
abouts, and  Miss  Spice  concluded  that  he  carne  there  in 
the  hope  of  finding  her  alone.  She  received  him  with 
freezing  politeness,  and  asked  him  to  sit  on  the  sofa. 
She  then  retired  to  the  other  end  of  the  room.  The  con- 
versation naturally  flagged  at  that  distance,  and  pres- 
ently Mr.  Jelly  bond  gave  it  up  altogether  and  relapsed 
into  silence.  He  was  thinking  of  other  things,  but  Miss 
Spice  thought  he  was  affected  by  the  cruelty  of  her  con- 
duct, and  her  mind  misgave  her.  What  if  he  had  been 
bent  on  having  an  explanation  when  he  came  in,  but 
had  not  the  courage  to  face  her  while  her  attitude  re- 
mained so  severe  ?  Miss  Spice's  little  heart  began  to 
palpitate  with  sudden  determination.  Should  she  lose 
him  altogether?  No,  a  thousand  times  no !  She  would 
melt  in  time.  She  would  deign  to  approach  him. 

"  The  weather  seems  to  be  gently  breaking,"  Mr.  Jelly- 
bond  said,  solemnly. 

Miss  Spice  thought  he  had  seen  signs  in  her  counte- 
nance of  the  approaching  change  in  her  demeanor,  and 
was  alluding  to  it  figuratively.  She  rose  from  her  dis- 
tant seat,  and,  above  maidenly  reserve,  shook  back  her 
tresses,  fluttered  across  the  room,  and  sank  down  on  the 
sofa  at  his  side. 

Mr.  Jellybond  bounced  up.  They  were  opposite  the 
window.  Any  one  might  pass  and  see  them — some  one 
had  passed,  in  fact,  for  just  at  that  moment  Babs  walked 
in  without  knocking. 

Mr.  Jellybond  greeted  her  with  effusion,  then  hastily 
took  his  leave. 

Miss  Spice  raised  her  clasped  hands  to  heaven  when 
he  had  gone,  and  ejaculated  : 

"  Oh-h-h  !" 
i  129 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

Between  Miss  Spice  and  Babs  there  was  a  curious  in- 
timacy. It  was  intermittent  in  its  expression.  Miss 
Spice  did  not  see  Babs  for  months  at  a  time  ;  then  Babs 
would  begin  to  come  again  very  often,  and  always  alone, 
and  always,  too,  with  something  nice  in  a  little  basket 
for  Miss  Spice,  when  she  found  she  could  manage  it — 
that  is  to  say,  when  she  could  abstract  things  from  lunch- 
eon and  larder,  or  wheedle  them  out  of  the  cook.  She 
was  the  only  one  of  Miss  Spice's  many  visitors  who 
ever  thought  of  relieving  her  necessities.  Babs  loved 
to  give ;  it  was  one  of  the  ways  she  had  of  making  a 
good  time  for  herself.  She  loved  the  kind  people,  too — 
the  genuinely  kind.  They  had  an  irresistible  attrac- 
tion for  her,  and  she  never  failed  to  find  them  out 
by  intuition.  Having  found  them,  she  imposed  upon 
them. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Ally  ?"  she  said. 

Miss  Spice  shut  her  eyes,  and  saw  her  knight  on  his 
knees  before  her.  Another  minute,  and — 

"  Ah  1"  she  moaned.  "  Ah,  Babs,  you  little  know 
what  you've  done  I" 

"  Eh  ?"  said  Babs. 

"  Is  not  his  a  noble  presence  ?"  Miss  Spice  pursued. 

«  Whose  ?  Old  J's  ?  That's  the  kind  of  thing  he'd 
say  himself." 

"  Do  1  speak  like  him  ?"  Miss  Spice  implored  to  know. 

"  No,  not  exactly.  It's  more  as  if  you  were  trying  to 
speak  like  him.  1  can't,  either  ;  but  Montacute  does. 
You  should  hear  him  !" 

"  Surely  you  do  not  mock  that  princely  stranger  ?" 
Miss  Spice  interposed,  with  severity. 

"  Princely  !  Oh,  come  now,  Ally,  we're  talking  of 
old  J-" 

Miss  Spice  started  to  her  feet. 

*  Hush  !"  she  cried.  *  No  more,  not  another  word,  if 
you  love  me." 

130 


"  '  HE    IMPRINTED    A    KISS    ON    MY    LIPS  '  " 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

*  Ally,"  said  Babs,  *  Alicia  Spice— out  with  it !  What's 
the  matter  ?" 

"  Alas  !  1  can  only  repeat,"  said  Miss  Spice,  "  little 
you  know  what  you  have  done.  How  can  you,  how 
could  any  one  know  who  had  not  witnessed  what  has 
just  passed  between  us  ?" 

She  sank  back  on  the  sofa,  clasped  her  hands,  and 
gazed  up  at  the  ceiling. 

"  My  heart  is  bursting  !  I  must  speak  1"  she  gasped. 
"  Will  you  promise  never  to  betray  me  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  won't  tell,"  said  Babs. 

"  My  dear  child,"  Miss  Spice  exclaimed,  "  why  did  I 
not  think  of  you  sooner  ?  In  spite  of  your  youth,  I  now 
perceive  that  you  are  the  only  one  I  know  who  can  really 
sympathize  with  me  and  help  me  at  this  critical  period  of 
my  life.  You  must  know,  then,  that  I  have  given  my 
heart  to  this  stranger — I  had  almost  said  this  royal 
stranger." 

"And  has  he  accepted  it  ?"  Babs  asked. 

"  I  should  not  have  said,  perhaps,  that  I  had  already 
given  it  to  him.  He  has  only  to  ask,  however." 

"  Then  he  has  not  asked  you  yet  ?" 

"  That  is  where  I  am  to  blame,"  sighed  Miss  Spice. 
"  Sit  down,  dear  child.  I  have  given  him  no  encourage- 
ment, no  reason  to  hope  ;  and  now  I  fear  he  has  gone 
from  me  in  despair." 

"  He  did  look  rather  queer,"  said  Babs,  sitting  down 
on  a  Chippendale  chair  and  nursing  her  basket.  "  But 
how  do  you  know  he  loves  you  ?" 

"  Once,  on  one  occasion,  he — he  " — she  dropped  her 
voice  and  brought  it  out  with  an  effort — "  he  imprinted 
a  kiss  on  my  lips." 

"  How  nasty  !"  said  Babs. 

"  My  dear,  you  wound  me,"  said  Miss  Spice. 

"  Sorry — 'polergize,"  said  Babs.  "  What  are  you 
going  to  do  now  ?" 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?  Is  the  injury  irreparable  ?  I  ask 
myself.  How  can  I  bid  him  hope  ?  Oh,  if  he  could  but 
see  me  now,  at  this  supreme  moment  of  contrition  and 
remorse,  if  he  could  but  hear  my  voice  !" 

"  Why  not  serenade  him  ?"  said  Babs. 

"  Ladies  do  not  serenade  their  lovers,"  said  Miss 
Spice. 

"  Yes,  they  do,  sometimes  ;  Miriam  serenaded  Dona- 
tello  in  The  Romance  of  Monte  Beni." 

"  Did  she  though,  really  ?"  said  Miss  Spice,  brought 
down  by  sudden  interest  from  her  highfalutin  to  the 
tone  that  was  natural  to  her.  "  How  do  you  know  ?" 

"  Read  about  them." 

"  But,  my  dear  child,  you've  often  told  me  that  you 
never  read  anything." 

"  I  know,"  said  Babs ;  "  but  haven't  you  noticed 
when  you  say  very  positively  that  you  hate  a  thing  and 
never  do  it  you  find  yourself  liking  it  and  doing  it  half 
the  time  ?  That's  how  I  am  about  reading." 

Miss  Spice  blinked  several  times  in  a  hard  attempt  to 
follow  her,  then  shook  her  head. 

"  What  were  you  going  to  tell  me  ?"  she  asked. 

"About  Miriam  and  Donatello.  He  was  sulky  about 
something  and  she  went  to  the  foot  of  his  tower  and 
sang  to  him,  charmingly.  He  was  a  fantastic  creature, 
with  fawn's  ears,  all  furry,  under  his  hair." 

"  Oh,  but  one  could  not  do  such  a  thing,"  said  Miss 
Spice. 

"  Why  not  ?  I've  done  something  of  the  same  kind 
myself — a  most  romantic  thing.  I  supped  alone  with 
Cadenhouse  one  night  up  in  the  tower." 

"  Babs,  you  are  not  telling  the  truth." 

"  No,  of  course  I'm  not,"  said  Babs. 

"  But  did  you  really  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  did." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  to  believe  you  or  not." 

132 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Believe  me,  or  ask  Cadenhouse.  I  have  threatened 
to  go  again  some  day.  At  present  he's  on  the  lookout, 
I'm  sure,  so  I'm  waiting.  The  fun  is  to  take  him  by 
surprise." 

"  But  do  you  love  Lord  Cadenhouse  ?" 

"  I  don't  know/'  said  Babs.  "  I  feel  all  hot  in  the 
chest  about  him." 

"  You  do  love  him  1"  Miss  Spice  exclaimed.  "  Oh,  is 
it  not  wondrous  ?" 

"  Wondrous !"  said  Babs.  "  I  wish  I'd  known  it 
sooner." 

"  But,  my  dear  child,  you're  very  young  to  be  in  love !" 
Miss  Spice  exclaimed,  shocked  into  her  natural  sense  of 
propriety  for  the  moment. 

"  I'm  head  and  shoulders  taller  than  you  are,"  said 
Babs, "  and  a  hundred  years  more  precocious.  I'm  sure 
there's  nothing  like  love,  and  I'm  going  to  be  in  love  now 
all  the  time.  It's  rather  a  spoil-sport,  though,  I  fancy," 
she  added,  thoughtfully.  "  I  hesitate  to  haul  him  out 
now.  At  first — " 

She  broke  off  because  Miss  Spice's  attention  had 
wandered,  and  asked  her  what  she  was  thinking  about. 

"  The  words,  you  know,"  said  Miss  Spice,  vaguely. 

"  Words  for  a  serenade  ?"  said  Babs.  "  The  words 
don't  matter.  Miriam  sang  in  German,  which  Dona- 
tello  did  not  understand  ;  but  her  song  was  none  the 
less  efficacious  for  that.  The  magic  is  in  the  voice,  you 
know." 

"  But  perhaps  this  Miriam  had  more  reason — felt  justi- 
fied— Donatello  had  doubtless  confessed  his  love/'  Miss 
Spice  stammered. 

"  His  attentions  had  been  most  marked,"  said  Babs, 
"  and  also  he  had  allowed  Miriam  to  make  love  to 
him." 

"  Dear  me !"  said  Miss  Spice.  "  Then  it  was  not  con- 
sidered improper  ?" 

'33 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Dear,  no  !"  said  Babs.  "  They  were  idealists,  you 
must  remember." 

"  But  I  don't  quite  know  what  idealists  are/'  said  Miss 
Spice. 

"  Nor  I  either,  exactly,"  Babs  answered,  candidly. 
"  But  idealists  have  the  privilege  of  doing  pretty  much 
as  they  like." 

"  Might  one  be  an  idealist  without  knowing  it  ?"  Miss 
Spice  wondered. 

"  I  should  think  nobody  knows  they're  idealist  till 
they  find  themselves  doing  as  idealists  do." 

"  But  what  do  they  do  ?" 

"  They  begin  by  worshipping  the  ideal ;  then —  But 
if  you  ever  see  a  lady  and  gentleman  in  a  public  place, 
capering  along  hand  in  hand,  followed  by  a  crowd  of 
ragamuffins,  to  the  music  of  a  crystal  flute  or  Pan-pipes 
made  of  reeds,  you  may  be  sure  they  are  idealists.  It  is  in 
such  outbursts  of  innocent  mirth  that  idealists  betray 
themselves,  so  I  gather  from  the  book.  I'll  lend  it  to  you, 
then  you'll  see  for  yourself  I'm  telling  you  the  truth. 
All  idealists  are  great  at  something — great  painters, 
poets,  sculptors,  singers,  greatly  in  love  ;  and  for  the 
most  part  great  geese  ;  but  glorified  geese,  of  course. 
Let's  have  tea.  Do  see  what  good  things  I've  brought 
you !" 

She  opened  her  little  basket,  and  Miss  Spice  peeped  in 
involuntarily. 

"  Babs,"  she  said, "  you  always  do  me  good.  I  couldn't 
have  touched  a  thing  when  you  came  in,  but  now — " 

Babs  jumped  up,  and  sang  : 

"  '  Polly  put  the  kettle  on, 
We'll  all  have  tea.'" 

"  But  poor  dear  aunt  is  out,"  said  Miss  Spice. 

"  We'll  keep  some  for  her,"  said  Babs.     "  Come  into 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

the  kitchen.     I  do  envy  you  the  run  of  the  kitchen  !    I'm 
howled  at  by  everybody  if  I  even  peep  into  ours." 

*  It  is  not  at  all  the  same  thing,"  said  Miss  Spice,  with 
propriety.  "  Of  course  you  cannot  be  allowed  to  mix 
with  the  servants." 

"  Blow  !"  said  Babs — "the  fire,  I  mean." 

Miss  Spice  got  the  bellows,  and  sat  down  on  a  creepy- 
stool  in  front  of  the  kitchen  fire. 

"  I  do  so  enjoy  talking  to  you,  Babs,"  she  said.  "  You 
have  always  something  unusual  to  say.  You  are  never 
obvious." 

"  Ally,  there  you  are  again,  thinking  of  him,"  said 
Babs,  and  added,  mocking  the  great  man  :  "  It  is  a  long 
lane  that — er — keeps  on  turning." 

"  Dear  man !"  sighed  Miss  Spice. 

When  Babs  had  gone,  Miss  Spice  sat  herself  down 
once  more  on  the  little  creepy-stool  in  front  of  the  kitch- 
en fire  and  recalled  their  conversation.  That  impossi- 
ble serenade,  how  it  haunted  her  !  She  warbled  a  little. 
Of  course  such  a  thing  could  never  be  done,  but  suppose — 
Her  gentle  bosom  heaved  ;  just  to  suppose  it  took  away 
her  breath.  But  suppose  she  should  be  wandering  with 
her  guitar  in  that  direction  !  Miss  Spice  had  inherited 
a  guitar  from  her  mother,  but  she  could  not  play  it.  Still, 
suppose —  And  so  she  continued,  not  realizing  how 
easy  it  is  to  pass  from  the  vague  dream  to  the  positive 
purpose. 

135 


CHAPTER     XIV 

BABS  jumped  out  of  bed  at  daylight  next  morning, 
seized  pencil  and  paper,  and  wrote  ;  and  as  she 
wrote  she  laughed  immoderately.     She  was  not 
so  ready  with  her  pen  as  with  her  tongue,  and  the 
composition  she  was  engaged  upon  cost  her  much  time 
and  trouble  ;  but  the  compensating  pleasure  was  ex- 
treme.    Every  now  and  then  she  chanted  a  line  to  try 
it;  and  when  she  had  finished  she  went  through  the 
whole  thing,  and  hugged  herself  in  an  ecstasy  of  merri- 
ment. 

"  I  wonder  if  she  will  1"  she  exclaimed.     "  But  if  she 
does,  may  I  be  there  to  see  1" 
Having  finished,  she  wrote  a  note  which  ran  : 

"  DEAR  ALLY, — I  send  herewith  Hawthorne's  book, 
Transformation,  in  three  volumes — the  one  I  told  you 
about  yesterday.  He  changed  the  name  ;  it  used  to  be 
called  The  Romance  of  Monte  Beni.  May  it  be  useful. 
I  also  send  you  a  little  serenade  I  have  just  composed. 
Learn  it  ;  it  will  go  to  almost  any  tune.  Do — do  decide 
to  try  it ;  and  tell  me  when  you  mean  to  make  the  at- 
tempt. Faint  heart  never  won — er — fine  gentleman. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"  BABS." 

Having  made  the  books  into  a  neat  parcel,  with  the 
note  inside,  Babs  threw  open  the  window  and  looked 
out.  Below,  in  the  garden,  a  slouching  young  fellow 

136 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

was  digging  and  delving.  Clodd  Dulditch  was  a  callow 
youth,  commonly  considered  not  very  bright,  who  had 
been  added  to  the  out- door  establishment  at  Dane  Court 
by  Mrs.  Kingconstance,  at  her  sister-in-law's  instiga- 
tion, principally  because  his  mother  was  a  widow.  There 
being  nothing  in  particular  for  him  to  do,  he  was  at 
everybody's  beck  and  call.  Sometimes  he  was  made  to 
work  in  the  gardens,  sometimes  in  the  stables,  or  the 
fields,  or  the  plantations ;  but  no  matter  what  the  task, 
he  conscientiously  shirked  it  to  the  best  of  his  ability. 
Clodd  was  at  that  time  a  barbarian  possessed  of  some  of 
the  qualities  appertaining  to  civilization — a  big-mouthed, 
small-nosed,  narrow-eyed,  red-headed  son  of  the  soil, 
who  did  not  seem  to  have  wit  enough  to  be  a  thorough 
rogue  or  resolution  enough  to  be  an  honest  man. 

"  Clodd !"  Babs  called  to  him.  "  Here,  Clodd,  I'm  let- 
ting a  parcel  down  with  a  string  !  Come  and  take  it ! 
And  run  with  it  as  fast  as  you  can  to  Miss  Spice,  and 
bring  me  back  an  answer." 

"  She  won't  be  up,"  said  Clodd,  deliberately,  approach- 
ing the  parcel. 

"  '  She's '  the  cat/'  Babs  retorted.  "  Speak  more  re- 
spectfully, Mr.  Clodd  Dulditch,  if  you  please.  It's  no 
business  of  yours  whether  Miss  Spice  is  up  or  not.  Do 
as  you  are  told — and  reap  the  reward  of  merit." 

Clodd' s  eyes  brightened  intelligently,  and  he  went, 
but  without  any  show  of  alacrity. 

Babs  remained  at  the  window.  It  was  early  summer. 
The  balmy  morning  breezes  blew  in  upon  her.  The 
roses  were  beginning  to  bloom,  the  great  horse-chestnuts 
were  in  full  flower,  pink  and  white  hawthorns  were  shed- 
ding petals  and  perfume  on  every  side,  and  an  old  apple- 
tree  just  beneath  the  window  was  bursting  into  blossom. 
The  country,  stretching  away  on  either  hand,  as  seen 
through  gaps  in  the  trees,  ended  on  the  far  horizon  in 
gentle  hills,  made  dim  by  distance,  while  between,  on 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

every  side,  the  land  could  be  seen  parcelled  out  into  green 
fields,  pasture  and  arable.  Thick  hedge-rows,  fine  old 
trees,  and  here  and  there  a  dip  in  the  ground  or  sparkling 
watercourse  relieved  the  prospect  from  monotony ;  while 
directly  opposite,  where  the  hills  beyond  the  valley  held 
up  their  heads  to  heaven,  there  was  always  for  Babs  the 
mystery  and  the  interest  of  the  tower. 

She  gazed  at  it  now,  and  as  she  gazed  she  suffered  a 
change  of  mood.  Her  spirits  went  down,  a  great  feeling 
of  dissatisfaction  seized  upon  her.  She  did  not  think 
the  serenade  so  very  funny  after  all ;  she  wished  she 
had  not  sent  it.  At  that  time  Babs  was  always  either 
doing  something  or  wishing  she  had  not  done  it. 

Clodd  Dulditch  appeared  in  the  course  of  the  morning 
with  an  answer  from  Miss  Spice,  which  he  was  cunning 
enough  to  keep  until  he  could  deliver  it  to  Babs  when 
there  was  nobody  by  to  see.  Babs  did  not  want  to  be 
questioned  about  the  note,  but,  all  the  same,  she  resent- 
ed Mr.  Clodd  Dulditch' s  assumption  of  secrecy.  It  low- 
ered her  in  her  own  estimation  to  have  the  gardener's 
boy  suspect  her  of  surreptitious  dealings,  and  made  her 
still  more  dissatisfied  with  her  morning's  work. 

Miss  Spice  wrote  : 

"  Thank  you  so  much  for  the  book,  dear.  I  shall  read 
it  with  the  very  deepest  interest.  The  serenade  is  lovely, 
and  so  appropriate.  But  of  course  I  could  not  dream 
of  doing  such  a  thing." 

Babs  tore  off  the  half-sheet  impulsively,  and  replied, 
in  pencil : 

"  Don't.  I'll  think  of  something  else.  Miriam  was  a 
ridiculous  foreigner,  and  not  a  person  to  be  imitated  at 

all.  LORRAINE  KINGCONSTANCE." 

She  gave  this  note  to  the  respectable  Clodd  Dulditch, 

138 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

with  orders  to  deliver  it  immediately,  and  a  shilling  for 
his  trouble. 

She  had  made  the  note  up  into  a  cocked  hat.  Clodd 
opened  it,  read  it,  and  not  seeing  enough  in  it  to  make 
it  worth  while  to  deliver  it,  burned  it  with  other  rubbish 
when  he  emptied  his  week-day  pockets  on  Saturday 
night. 

Transformation  was  a  revelation  to  Miss  Spice.  She 
read  it,  she  was  absorbed  into  it,  she  lived  the  life.  She 
took  her  daily  walks  abroad  in  Rome  in  an  atmosphere 
of  high  romance.  She  was  Hilda  in  her  tower,  she  was 
Miriam — more  especially  was  she  Miriam — and  the  sere- 
nade she  was  not  going  to  sing  was  always  in  her  mind. 

Her  good  aunt,  Mrs.  Sophia  Pepper,  did  not  know 
what  to  make  of  Miss  Spice  in  these  days.  She  caught 
her  continually  in  some  extraordinary  pose  or  other. 
Once,  after  Miss  Spice  had  been  alone  in  the  drawing- 
room  for  some  hours,  the  old  lady,  going  in  with  a  lamp, 
surprised  her  just  as  she  jumped  up  from  the  couch,  her 
arms  raised  above  her  head,  and  was  beginning  to  dance. 

"  Gracious,  Alicia  !"  said  Mrs.  Sophia  Pepper.  "  You 
did  give  me  a  turn.  1  nearly  dropped  the  lamp.  But 
you'd  need  to  caper  and  stretch  yourself  or  your  limbs 
will  be  shrivelling  with  the  amount  you  sit  about." 

"  I'll  get  the  tea,  aunt,"  Miss  Spice  said,  meekly.  "  I'm 
afraid  I'm  absent  sometimes.  You  must  forgive  me." 

"  Oh,  you  mean  well  enough,  Alicia,"  the  old  lady  an- 
swered. "  But  1  wish  you'd  think  less  and  do  more. 
I'd  be  obliged  to  you  if  you'd  get  the  tea,  for  I'm  about 
done  with  seeing  after  everything  most  of  the  day  while 
you're  sitting  in  the  drawing-room.  It  usen't  to  be  so 
once,  but  something's  come  to  you  of  late — I  don't  know 
what,  only  you're  not  the  same  at  all." 

Miss  Spice  raised  her  little  hands  in  protest,  and  went 
out  of  the  room  all  atwitter,  anxious  to  atone.  She  be- 
gan to  cut  bread  for  toast.  If  only  he  could  see  her  so 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

employed — Charlotte  and  Werther.  Ah,  The  Sorrows 
of  Werther  I  But  he  should  not  sorrow  long.  Comfort 
must  be  conveyed  to  him.  Miriam  sang. 

Kneeling  before  the  kitchen  fire  making  the  toast, 
Miss  Spice  began  to  imitate  Miriam — softly  at  first,  then, 
suddenly  and  involuntarily  as  it  seemed  to  her,  she  burst 
into  full  song — a  glorious  burst  of  clear,  full-throated 
song.  Up  and  down  the  scale  she  went,  bravura,  with 
ever-increasing  spirit — never  mind  the  words.  Still  on 
her  knees  she  flourished  the  toasting-fork,  she  threw 
herself  into  expressive  attitudes  like  an  opera-singer. 
The  toast  went  flying  across  the  kitchen.  She  never 
missed  it. 

When  at  last  she  was  forced  to  stop,  out  of  breath,  she 
became  conscious  of  Mrs.  Sophia  Pepper  standing  in  the 
doorway,  eying  her  grimly. 

"  Well,  of  all—"  the  old  lady  began.  "  What  in  the 
name  of  idiocy  are  you  making  such  a  noise  for  yowling 
the  house  down  and  anticking  ?  1  declare  1  think  you're 
training  for  a  lunatic  asylum." 

"  Oh,  auntie,  1  was  only  trying  my  voice,"  Miss  Spice 
remonstrated. 

*  Trying  your  voice  !  1  never  saw  such  an  exhibi- 
tion in  all  my  life.  And  what  about  the  tea  ?"  said  Mrs. 
Sophia  Pepper. 

During  the  meal  Miss  Spice  was  conscious  that  her 
aunt  was  looking  at  her  over  her  spectacles  from  time  to 
time  inquiringly. 

"  I'd  like  to  know  what  tick  it  is  you've  got  into  your 
head,  Alicia,"  she  said,  at  last  ;  "  but  if  you've  any  mu- 
sic in  you,  I'm  not  the  person  to  quench  it.  Sing  while 
you  can,  by  all  means — the  singing  season  of  life  is 
short ;  but  sing  like  a  lady,  and  not  like  a  play-acting, 
painty-faced,  bold-eyed  hussy." 

"  But,  aunt,  that's  the  way  to  sing.  Every  one  1 
heard  sang  like  that  when  1  was  in  London." 

140 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Well,  if  you  sing  like  that  here,  then  the  Lord  have 
mercy  upon  your  soul  !"  said  Mrs.  Sophia  Pepper. 

"  Here  !"  said  Miss  Spice,  bitterly.  "  Here  nobody 
ever  has  a  chance — no  woman,  at  least.  We're  born, 
we  mourn,  we  die,  we  rot ;  that's  the  history  of  women 
in  Danehurst.  We  never  have  a  chance." 

Mrs.  Sophia  Pepper  shook  her  head  and  compressed 
her  lips. 

"  You  should  have  married,"  she  said. 

"  Who,  if  you  please  ?"  said  Miss  Spice.  Then  she 
looked  up  through  the  window  at  the  strip  of  sky  above 
the  trees.  The  very  real  privations  of  her  life,  so  hero- 
ically borne,  had  made  their  mark  upon  her  poor  little 
anxious  face,  once  so  rosy  and  plump  and  pretty,  but 
now  so  pinched.  Miss  Spice  was  a  sweet-natured,  prac- 
tical little  person  naturally,  born  to  be  a  self-effacing 
wife,  a  devoted  mother,  a  happy  home-maker  ;  so  it  had 
been  intended  by  nature,  but  man,  the  marplot,  had  in- 
tervened with  his  social  muddle  and  spoiled  the  design, 
so  that  Miss  Spice  was  wasted.  Her  happy  home-mak- 
ing proclivities  had  found  no  outlet,  vain  delusions  had 
taken  the  place  of  interests  and  occupations,  and  all  her 
promise  was  being  resolved  into  fantastic  performance. 

When  she  went  to  her  room  she  sat  long  at  her  win- 
dow looking  out.  It  was  a  moonlight  night,  and  she 
had  put  out  the  candle  for  economy. 

"  I  wish  1  knew  what  to  do,"  she  was  saying  to  herself. 
"  If  I  do  nothing  I  shall  decay,  like  the  rest  ;  if  1  do 
something  I  may  have  my  moment  " 

She  jumped  up,  all  energy  for  an  instant,  then  she  sat 
down  again,  a  prey  to  doubt. 

"  Oh,  for  a  sign  !"  she  cried  aloud,  "  a  sign,  a  sign — 
just '  Yes  '  or  '  No ' !  If  a  cloud  crosses  the  moon  in  the 
next  ten  minutes,  that  shall  be  '  No.'  " 

She  sat  with  her  little  watch  in  her  hand,  anxiously 
waiting  ;  and  it  was  as  if  nature  were  anxious  to  respond 

141 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

to  her  appeal,  for  in  less  than  ten  minutes  a  great  white 
cloud  came  hurrying  up  and  crossed  the  moon.  The 
sign  was  significant  enough,  but  Miss  Spice  was  not 
satisfied. 

"  1  might  have  made  it '  Yes  '  as  easily  as  '  No/  "  she 
said.  "  If  a  bird  chirps  in  the  next  ten  minutes,  that 
shall  be  '  Yes/  " 

For  ten  long  minutes  she  looked  at  her  little  watch ; 
eleven,  twelve,  fifteen — there  was  not  a  sound.  Miss 
Spice  got  up  and  walked  about  the  room,  dissatisfied 
still. 

An  old  newspaper  was  lying  on  a  chair.  She  took  it 
up  mechanically.  The  margin  showed  white  in  the 
moonlight ;  she  tore  a  strip  of  it  off,  but  with  no  very 
clear  intent.  Two  signs  already  were  against  her. 
Should  she  hazard  a  third  ?  Why  not  ?  She  searched 
for  a  piece  of  pencil,  tore  the  scrap  of  paper  in  two,  wrote 
on  one  piece  "  Yes,"  on  the  other  "  No,"  dropped  both 
pieces  on  the  floor,  shut  her  eyes,  turned  round  twice, 
then  went  down  on  her  knees,  and  groped  about,  with- 
out looking,  until  she  found  one  of  the  scraps.  It  was 
all  done  in  the  most  strictly  honorable  manner  ;  there 
could  be  no  mistake  about  it  this  time.  Miss  Spice 
lighted  the  candle  and  looked. 

The  word  was  "No." 

142 


CHAPTER     XV 

THE  Swiss  Cottage  stood  in  a  pine-wood  half-way 
up  a  steep  hill  just  outside  the  village  of  Dane- 
hurst.  It  owed  its  name  in  part  to  its  position, 
but  also  to  sundry  gables,  balconies,  and  other  or- 
namental projections  of  wood,  stained  brown,  which  made 
it  very  much  resemble  the  little  models  of  Swiss  chalets. 
As  was  usual  in  that  neighborhood,  the  cottage  had 
been  placed  so  as  to  be  as  much  concealed  from  view  as 
possible  ;  the  chimneys  only  were  visible  from  the  road 
below,  and  no  one  would  have  suspected  that  a  house 
of  any  importance  stood  there,  yet  the  so-called  "  cottage  " 
was  of  considerable  size.  Immediately  round  about  it 
the  wood  had  been  cleared  to  make  room  for  the  gardens. 
The  grounds  were  entered  from  the  high-road  by  hand- 
some iron  gates.  There  was  no  lodge.  The  drive,  cut 
through  the  fir-wood  and  sheltered  on  either  side  by  the 
trees,  wound  round  the  hill  up  to  the  house  picturesquely. 
There  the  thrushes  and  blackbirds  sang  and  the  rooks 
came  cawing.  It  pleased  Mr.  Jellybond  to  watch  them. 
Their  black  forms  silhouetted  against  the  blue  were 
extremely  decorative,  he  said.  When  he  had  admired 
their  beauty  to  his  heart's  content  he  shot  them. 

That  afternoon,  while  poor  little  Miss  Spice  was  weary- 
ing for  him  and  forming  extravagant  plans  to  console 
him,  the  dear  man  had  been  strolling  about  his  grounds 
enjoying  the  freshness  and  the  balsamic  odor  of  the  firs 
in  the  company  of  Mrs.  Normanton  and  one  of  her  daugh- 
ters, whom  he  had  waylaid  at  his  own  gate  just  as  they 

»43 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

were  driving  past,  and  persuaded  to  enter  and  stay  for 
tea. 

"  What  a  strange  coincidence/'  he  said,  "  that  1  should 
have  been  at  the  gate  just  as  you  were  passing  !  And 
how  fortunate  for  me  1" 

"  And  for  us  too,  I'm  sure,"  Mrs.  Normanton  replied, 
smiling. 

She  was  looking  young  and  animated,  and  there  was 
a  gleam  in  her  eyes  as  if  she  were  illuminated  inside, 
and  the  light  flashed  forth. 

Mr.  Jelly  bond  repeated, "  What  a  strange  coincidence !" 
times  enough  to  make  one  wonder  at  last  how  the  coin- 
cidence had  occurred.  Fortunately,  there  was  no  one 
there  to  wonder,  as  little  Meg  Normanton,  whose  un- 
sophisticated eyes  saw  nothing  that  was  not  obvious, 
did  not  count. 

"  It  is  so  nice  to  see  you  here  !"  Mr.  Jelly  bond  took 
occasion  to  remark  in  an  expressive  aside  to  Mrs.  Nor- 
manton ;  and  this  also  he  repeated  several  times,  and 
each  time  Mrs.  Normanton  smiled  and  sighed.  Satis- 
faction was  mingled  with  regret  in  those  smiles  and 
sighs.  It  is  wonderful  how  young  and  romantic  people 
can  go  on  feeling,  even  after  they  have  lost  their  figures. 
Mrs.  Normanton  knew  that  poor  Mr.  Jellybond  had  dis- 
covered too  late  that  she  was  the  one  who  alone  could 
have  made  his  life  perfect,  if  only — and  the  knowledge 
was  sadly  sweet.  However,  there  was  no  help  for  it 
now.  Squire  Normanton  was  a  fact — an  unregretted 
fact  as  far  as  Mrs.  Normanton  was  concerned  ;  but  that 
did  not  prevent  certain  sentimental  pleasantnesses — a 
little  speech,  a  lingering  handclasp,  a  look  direct — all 
quite  innocent,  of  course,  and  indefinite ;  yet  what  a 
difference  they  made  !  Life  had  been  so  insipid  before 
Mr.  Jellybond  came  ;  now  it  had  its  sauce  piquante.  Mr. 
Jellybond  loved  to  be  sauce  piquante  to  a  lady's  life — to 
any  number  of  them.  Half  the  ladies  in  the  neighbor- 

144 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

hood  brightened  at  the  sound  of  his  name.  Each,  like 
Mrs.  Normanton,  had  a  little  secret  of  her  own  (some- 
thing different  in  each  case)  respecting  Mr.  Jellybond, 
and  kept  it ;  and  he,  honest  man,  was  discretion  itself. 
He  seldom  even  mentioned  one  lady  o  another,  and 
never  except  in  a  casual  way  ;  but  they  all  talked  about 
him.  They  said  he  was  so  original,  so  clever  and  in- 
ventive, so  unlike  anybody  else,  and  such  an  acquisi- 
tion to  the  neighborhood  ! 

Mrs.  Normanton  was  charmed  with  the  grounds. 
She  was  taken  by  surprise  again  and  again  by  some 
ingenious  contrivance  or  other.  Once  she  stood  by 
accident  on  an  innocent-looking  flat  stone,  and  twenty 
feet  away,  out  of  a  marble  basin,  a  beautiful  fountain 
spurted  up  into  the  air.  At  another  point  they  sat  on  a 
seat  from  wfrch  could  be  obtained  a  lovely  view  of  the 
valley,  and  presently  Mrs.  Normanton  perceived  that 
the  scene  was  slowly  changing.  At  first  she  was  startled, 
thinking  it  was  an  optical  illusion  ;  but  no,  the  land- 
scape was  really  moving  on  like  pictures  in  a  panorama. 
Mr.  Jellybond  enjoyed  the  mystification  of  the  ladies  for 
a  little  before  he  explained  that  the  seat  was  adjusted  so 
that  when  you  sat  upon  it  it  revolved  slowly  on  an  axis 
in  order  to  show  you  the  prospect  from  every  point  of 
view. 

Another  seat  stood  just  inside  the  entrance  to  a  grotto. 
Mr.  Jellybond  seemed  to  wish  that  they  should  sit  there, 
and  the  ladies  complied,  although  they  would  not  have 
chosen  that  seat  themselves,  because  the  sun  shining 
full  upon  it  dazzled  their  eyes.  No  sooner  were  they 
seated,  however,  than  there  descended  in  front  of  them 
a  sheet  of  water,  and  they  found  themselves  sheltered 
from  the  heat  and  shut  up  in  delicious  seclusion. 

When  they  came  to  the  house  Mr.  Jellybond  stepped 
aside,  and  with  a  courtly  bow  waved  them  towards  the 
door,  which  was  shut,  but  opened  of  itself  on  the  instant. 
K  145 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

As  they  crossed  the  threshold  they  were  welcomed  with  a 
burst  of  instrumental  music. 

"  Dear  me  !     This  is  fairyland,"  said  Mrs.  Normanton. 

"  While  you  are  here,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Jelly  bond. 

The  hall  was  hung  with  red  cloth  from  floor  to  ceiling, 
which  made  a  telling  background  for  the  white  statues 
(draped,  of  course)  which  adorned  it,  and  for  the  tree- 
ferns,  palms,  and  other  foliage  plants  which  were  grouped 
about  in  profusion  with  excellent  effect.  They  were  not 
all  real,  but  the  artificial  ones  were  so  natural  and  so 
cleverly  disposed  no  one  ever  suspected  them — not  even 
Mr.  Jellybond's  intelligent  housekeeper,  Mrs.  Dulditch, 
who  watered  them  all  impartially.  Mr.  Jellybond's 
big  bland  countenance  expanded  every  time  he  caught 
her  performing  this  duty. 

He  led  his  guests  into  the  dining-room,  a  charming 
apartment  panelled  in  oak,  where  the  tea  was  spread  out 
at  one  end  of  the  long  table. 

"  Will  you  preside,  dear  lady  ?"  he  said.  "  1  had  it 
placed  here  that  1  might  know  for  once  what  it  is  to  have 
the  chair  at  the  head  of  my  table  filled  to  my  entire  satis- 
faction." 

It  was  a  handsome  oak  chair  of  ecclesiastical  design, 
with  arms,  and  a  high  carved  back — a  large  chair,  but 
Mrs.  Normanton  might  well  be  said  to  fill  it  satisfactorily. 
When  she  had  taken  her  seat  she  looked  about  her,  ex- 
pecting the  unexpected  to  happen  ;  but  for  several  min- 
utes all  was  ordinary.  Then,  suddenly,  high  up  near 
the  ceiling  at  the  far  end  of  the  room  opposite  to  her, 
something  went  "  click,"  and  there  flashed  forth  from 
the  carved  cornice  in  prismatic  colors  the  one  word  "  Wel- 
come." 

Mr.  Jellybond  was  gratified  by  a  prolonged  "  Oh-h-h  !" 
from  both  ladies. 

"  I  cannot — I  never  shall  understand,"  Mrs  Norman- 
ton burst  forth.  "  how  it  is  that  you,  with  your  talents — 

146 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

your  genius,  I  may  say — can  stay  buried  alive  in  such  a 
place  as  this." 

*  Why,  dear  lady,  it  is  a  charming  place/'  said  Mr. 
Jellybond.  "  What  more  could  the  heart  of  man  desire  ? 
If  I  went  forth  into  the  world  again,  the  unattainable 
would  still  be  the  unattainable." 

He  looked  significantly  into  the  lady's  face.  She 
cast  down  her  eyes.  Then  they  both  sighed.  It  was 
very  pleasant. 

"  I  pride  myself  on  the  number  of  my  peaceful  pur- 
suits/' said  Mr.  Jellybond,  "  upon  my  ample  leisure, 
upon  my  inward  calm,  upon  my  outward  cheerfulness. 
Mine  has  been  a  varied  existence — not  such  a  very  long 
one,  perhaps,  as  time  goes  ;  but  varied,  amply  varied. 
I  have  seen  much — too  much,  it  may  be  ;  and  now  my 
heart's  desire  is  peace  ;  and  it  seems  to  me  that  I  have 
attained  to  peace  at  last.  What  do  you  say,  dear  lady  ? 
It  is  a  long  lane  that — er — keeps  on  turning." 

When  the  ladies  had  gone  Mr.  Jellybond  yawned  un- 
affectedly. Then  he  dressed  for  dinner.  It  was  known 
in  the  village  that  he  always  dressed  for  dinner,  and  the 
fact  added  much  to  his  personal  prestige. 

There  was  a  library  at  the  Swiss  Cottage.  Mr.  Jelly- 
bond,  when  he  settled  in  that  neighborhood,  had  a  seri- 
ous purpose  in  his  mind.  The  library  was  a  good  room 
down-stairs.  It  was  lined  from  floor  to  ceiling  with 
learned  books,  handsomely  bound.  The  books  on  the 
upper  shelves  were  dummies,  but  that  did  not  spoil  the 
effect.  Books  were  always  lying  about,  some  open  on 
tables,  or  piled  up  on  chairs,  or  even  on  the  floor,  as  if 
in  constant  use ;  while  charts,  maps,  scientific  instru- 
ments, and  sheets  of  closely  written  manuscript  com- 
pleted the  learned  lumber.  The  room  looked  like  an  in- 
tellectual workshop,  and  visitors,  who  were  always 
shown  in  there  unless  they  were  special  intimates,  were 
duly  impressed.  But  Mr.  Jellybond  protested  against 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

being  considered  learned.  He  wished  it  to  be  understood 
that  his  evenings  were  spent  at  the  piano  and  his  morn- 
ings in  painting  pictures — so  he  said ;  but  somehow  his 
protests  only  confirmed  the  belief  in  his  more  solid  ac- 
quirements. 

It  was  not  to  his  library,  where  Miss  Spice  always 
fondly  imagined  him  immersed  in  thought,  but  to  anoth- 
er room,  one  of  the  best  in  the  house,  which  he  used  as 
a  withdrawing  -  room,  that  Mr.  Jellybond  retired  that 
evening  after  dinner  to  pursue  his  studies.  This  room 
was  up-stairs,  and  gave  onto  a  balcony  overhanging  the 
valley,  of  which  it  commanded  a  magnificent  view.  It 
was  by  no  means  a  conventional  apartment ;  belonging 
to  such  an  original  person,  that  was  not  to  be  expected. 
Mr.  Jellybond  would  not  have  it  called  a  drawing-room ; 
he  intended  it  to  be  a  chamber  of  the  arts,  he  said.  The 
shape,  to  begin  with,  was  unusual.  There  was  a  fair 
space  in  the  centre,  but  all  about  it  nooks  and  corners, 
the  result  of  throwing  three  rooms  into  one,  and  such 
like  structural  alterations.  The  doors  were  mahogany — 
not  real  mahogany,  but  so  well  painted  that  no  one  could 
have  told  the  difference.  The  floor  was  parquet,  a  new 
kind  made  on  canvas  and  sold  by  the  yard,  but  exceed- 
ingly effective.  A  few  silk  Persian  rugs  were  artfully 
disposed  about  it ;  but  everything  in  the  room  was  art- 
fully disposed,  even  the  grand  piano,  that  usually  hope- 
less piece  of  furniture  from  the  point  of  view  of  beauty, 
looked  well.  Music  was  also  represented  by  a  harp  and 
lyre.  M".  Jellybond  played  the  piano,  but  he  con- 
fessed, with  his  accustomed  frankness,  that  the  harp 
and  lyre  he  could  only  love  for  their  form.  Pictures  of 
lovely  women  in  voluptuous  attitudes  were  cunningly 
placed  between  ravishing  landscapes  and  seascapes  on 
the  walls,  and  statues  gleamed  against  silk  curtains. 
There  were  flowers  and  foliage  plants,  but  not  too  many 
of  them.  The  prevailing  tint  was  achieved  by  a  clever 

148 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

combination  of  shades  of  green,  blue,  and  pink,  with 
daring  splashes  of  purple  and  red.  Slow  combustion 
grates  and  Adams's  mantel-pieces  decorated  the  fire- 
places, of  which  there  were  several. 

Mr.  Jellybond  was  in  the  habit  of  doing  a  good  deal 
for  himself  in  the  house.  He  had  acquired  the  habit  in 
his  travelling  days,  he  said,  and  kept  it  up  because 
otherwise  he  should  not  have  had  active  exercise  enough 
to  keep  him  in  health  and  spirits,  but  also  because  it 
bored  him  to  be  much  waited  upon. 

When  he  came  up-stairs  that  evening  after  dinner  he 
changed  his  spruce  dress  coat  for  a  velvet  smoking- 
jacket,  put  a  match  to  the  wood  fire  which  was  laid  ready 
for  lighting  in  a  cosey  corner,  drew  a  luxurious  sofa 
towards  it,  put  a  reading-lamp  on  a  small  table  beside 
the  sofa,  and  lighted  another  lamp  which  hung  from  the 
ceiling  and  cast  a  delightful,  rich,  warm,  rose-colored 
glow  over  the  whole  apartment.  The  French  window 
which  opened  onto  the  balcony  he  also  threw  wide  to 
keep  the  room  fresh.  He  had  heard  that  warmth  and 
fresh  air  tend  greatly  to  prolong  life.  He  then  drew  the 
curtains  and  shut  out  the  last  cold  gray  of  the  twilight, 
which  did  not  harmonize  with  his  feelings  so  well  as  the 
rose-colored  lamp,  and  at  last,  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction, 
he  stretched  himself  on  the  couch,  lighted  a  cigar,  and 
opened  a  book.  Before  he  began  to  read  he  glanced 
round  and  seemed  well  pleased.  Ease  of  body  and  mind, 
with  affluence  and  beautiful  possessions,  were  his  ;  he 
owed  neither  money  nor  grudge  to  any  one ;  he  had  a 
great  object  in  life  and  many  small  ones — the  small  ones 
were  the  ladies  who  liked  him.  He  was  no  hermit,  and 
did  not  profess  to  be.  His  capacity  for  enjoyment  was 
enormous  ;  he  had  carefully  cultivated  it,  and  was  pre- 
serving it  as  carefully,  in  order  that  it  might  be  prolonged 
to  the  utmost  limit  of  life.  Moderation — that  was  one  of 
his  words.  To  keep  himself  well  in  hand  and  never  let 

149 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

himself  be  satiated  was  the  principle  he  proposed  to  act 
upon  for  the  remainder  of  his  days.  At  one  time  he  had 
worked  too  hard,  but  he  had  recovered  from  that,  and 
now  he  was  determined  not  to  go  to  the  opposite  extreme. 
So  far  he  had  succeeded  well  in  life,  and  he  expected  to 
succeed  to  the  end — if  only  no  outside  influence  came  to 
balk  him.  Himself  he  could  control,  but  there  were 
others  besides  himself  to  be  reckoned  with.  However, 
there  is  no  playing  any  game  without  an  opponent; 
the  thing  is  to  be  prepared  for  your  opponents.  He  kept 
himself  prepared  by  speaking  the  truth  as  nearly  as 
possible. 

Mr.  Jellybond  was  reading  Puck  that  evening  for  the 
first  time.  He  had  just  come  to  the  description,  writ  in 
burning  words,  of  the  painting  of  Cleopatra.  He  read 
it  twice,  he  gloated  over  it,  then  closed  the  book,  shut 
his  eyes,  and  leaned  back  on  the  couch  to  recall  every 
graphic  detail  scattered  through  the  story  and  converg- 
ing at  this  point,  where,  by  their  aid,  that  splendid 
creature,  with  "  one  gorgeous  blossom  of  the  pome- 
granate "  pressed  to  her  "  scarlet  lips,"  was  conjured 
up  in  the  flesh  for  his  delectation.  He  objected  to  the 
class  to  which  she  belonged — too  venal,  he  said,  and 
too  easy  of  attainment.  You  lost  all  the  pleasure  of 
the  pursuit  with  them.  Now,  Mrs.  Kingconstance — 
He  meditated  for  a  good  half -hour  on  her  beauty, 
then  returned  to  his  book  ;  but  before  he  could  resume 
the  story  some  one  knocked  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in,"  Mr.  Jellybond  exclaimed,  not  over-amia- 
bly.  Like  other  studious  men,  he  objected  to  be  in- 
terrupted in  the  ardent  pursuit  of  knowledge,  especial- 
ly when  he  was,  as  at  that  moment,  very  much  "  in  the 
vein." 

The  knock  was  repeated,  from  which  it  was  evident 
that  the  person  without  had  not  heard  the  invitation  to 
enter. 

150 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Come  in,  my  good  woman,"  Mr.  Jelly  bond  said  again, 
more  blandly  this  time,  but  without  raising  his  voice. 
His  housekeeper,  Mrs.  Dulditch,  Clodd's  mother,  was 
deaf  ;  and  it  was  his  playful  habit  to  keep  her  waiting 
in  this  way  when  she  disturbed  him  at  inconvenient  mo- 
ments. Mr.  Jellybond's  household  consisted  of  most 
respectable  elderly  people.  There  was  a  boy,  who  never 
appeared,  to  do  the  rough  work  in  the  kitchen,  because 
Mr.  Jellybond  did  not  approve  of  young  maids  in  a 
bachelor's  establishment. 

After  a  pause  Mrs.  Dulditch  knocked  again  several 
times. 

Mr.  Jellybond  did  not  reply.  He  threw  himself  back 
on  his  sofa  and  watched  the  door  with  an  amused  ex- 
pression until  the  handle  was  turned,  then  he  shut  his 
eyes. 

Mrs.  Dulditch  looked  at  him  a  moment,  and  also  looked 
at  his  half-smoked  cigar,  which  was  well  alight  in  the 
ash-tray  at  his  elbow.  Mrs.  Dulditch  might  not  hear 
much,  but  could  see  more  than  most  people. 

"  Please,  sir — "  she  began,  in  some  trepidation. 

Mr.  Jellybond  looked  at  her  in  apparent  astonishment. 

*  Did  you  knock  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  sir,  several  times.   Perhaps  you  were  asleep,  sir." 
Mr.  Jellybond  gave  her  a  stony  stare,  which  made  her 

fidget  uncomfortably. 

"  Do  you  want  anything  ?"  he  asked,  enunciating 

each  word  with  slow  distinctness,  just  loud  enough  for 

her  to  hear. 

*  No,  sir,  I  don't,  sir,  thank  you,  sir,"  she  replied ; 
"  but  there's  a  person  down-stairs  as  does." 

"  Who  is  the  person  ?"  Mr.  Jellybond  demanded.  "  If 
it  be  some  one  asking  alms,  give  him  alms  " — and  he 
waived  his  hand  as  who  should  say,  "  You  know  the 
lordly  custom  of  the  house — give  him  alms  by  all  means ; 
but  do  not  disturb  me."  "  Really,  Mrs.  Dulditch,  you 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

should  know  better — at  this  hour,  when  1  am  always 
occupied." 

"  1  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  the  housekeeper,  be- 
coming abject  through  sheer  nervousness.  "  It  isn't 
my  fault,  sir.  She  insisted  on  seeing  you.  She  said 
she'd  take  a  stick  to  me  if  1  didn't  let  her  in.  She  isn't 
askin'  arms.  She  laughed  scornful  when  1  offered  her 
a  shillin'."  Mrs.  Dulditch  looked  round,  then  came  a 
step  nearer,  and  added,  mysteriously :  "  It's  that  per- 
son, sir." 

"  Indeed  !"  said  Mr.  Jelly  bond,  with  the  slightest  pos- 
sible change  of  tone,  as  he  put  his  feet  to  the  ground 
and  stood  up  in  a  slow  and  dignified  manner.  "  Now 
Mrs.  Dulditch,"  he  continued,  confidentially,  "  what 
would  you  do  under  the  circumstances  ?  That  the 
woman  is  mad  1  think  does  not  admit  of  a  doubt.  Also, 
that  she  has  no  claim  upon  me — except  the  natural  claim 
of  one  so  afflicted  " — he  solemnly  shook  his  head — "  no 
impartial  judge  would  deny.  But  still,  what  am  1  to  do  ? 
If  1  refuse  to  see  her — " 

"  She'll  make  a  row  in  the  village,  sir,  and  come  again, 
that's  all." 

"  Ah !"  replied  Mr.  Jelly  bond.  "  1  was  too  good-nat- 
ured in  the  first  instance.  If  I  had  steeled  my  heart 
against  her  entreaties  1  should  have  saved  myself  much 
trouble.  Remember  that,  Mrs.  Dulditch  —  1  should 
have  saved  myself  much  trouble.  It  is  not  an  advan- 
tage to  be  born  with  a  soft  heart.  Mine  has  always 
been  too  tender.  I  forget  my  duty  to  myself  only  too 
often.  But  now,  1  suppose,  Mrs.  Dulditch,  there  is 
nothing  for  it  but  to  see  her.  You  had  better  show  her 
up,  my  good  woman — you  had  better  show  her  up." 

Mr.  Jellybond  looked  at  his  housekeeper,  smiled, 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  sighed  audibly  enough  to 
impress  her. 

"  I'll  show  her  up,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Dulditch. 

152 


M 


CHAPTER    XVI 

[RS.  DULDITCH  ushered  in  a  handsome,  gipsy- 
like  creature,  much  bedizened  with  bright  rib- 
bons and  solid  gold  jewelry  of  antique  design. 
At  the  first  glance  she  looked  old,  but  her  slim 
figure,  dark  face,  and  high  color,  her  thick  black  hair 
and  extreme  activity,  together  with  a  habit  she  had  of 
gesticulating  so  that  she  seemed  to  be  talking  with  her 
whole  body,  made  it  hard  to  determine  what  her  age 
might  be.  She  entered  the  room  as  if  she  had  a  right 
to  be  there,  coolly  seated  herself  in  an  easy-chair  without 
waiting  to  be  asked,  glanced  round,  and  then  looked  Mr. 
Jellybond  full  in  the  face. 

"  Well,  Tinney,"  she  tartly  observed,  "  it's  some  time 
now  since  I  last  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you." 

"  It  is  hard  that  we  cannot  oftener  meet,"  he  replied. 
"  If  there  be  anything  that  could  add  to  my  happiness 
at  this  time  it  would  be  the  delight  of  seeing  you,  dressed 
as  becomes  you,  sitting  here  night  after  night,  the  or- 
nament of  my  lonely  hearth  and  the  comfort  of  my 
monotonous  ease." 

"  Fudge  1"  she  ejaculated.  "  Don't  talk  to  me  like 
that.  You  do  it  very  well,  I  allow,  and  doubtless  it's 
the  c'rect  thing  in  some  places  ;  but  to  her  as  remem- 
bers the  very  day  you  first  put  on  that  style  it  won't  go 
down,  I  do  assure  you." 

"  Practice  makes  perfect,"  he  blandly  observed.  "  Prac- 
tice is  my  plough.  I  have  put  my  hand  to  it,  and  I  do 
not  turn  back." 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Tinney,  you're  a  fool/'  the  woman  said. 

He  glanced  round  the  room  complacently  by  way  of 
answer.  Her  eyes  followed  his,  and  she  reversed  her 
judgment. 

"  No,"  she  reflected  aloud,  "  you're  not  a  fool ;  but 
you  might  easily  pass  for  one." 

"  I  only  take  on  the  color  of  my  surroundings,"  he  re- 
plied. "  It  is  the  way  with  the  cleverest  insects.  Social- 
ly our  safety  depends  upon  our  appearing  to  be  like 
other  people — and  our  popularity  on  appearing  to  be 
different.  But  I  fear  that  is  not  obvious  enough  for 
you." 

"  It's  mighty  clever,  I  suppose,"  she  said,  melting  into 
a  smile.  It  was  evident  from  the  way  she  looked  at  him 
that  her  admiration  for  him  was  great,  and  that  she 
found  it  hard  to  keep  up  the  appearance  of  wrath  with 
which  she  had  begun  the  conversation. 

"  You  must  have  some  wine,"  said  Mr.  Jelly  bond,  fol- 
lowing up  his  advantage. 

He  took  a  bunch  of  keys  from  his  pocket. 

"  Kindly  excuse  me  a  moment,"  he  said,  as  he  left  the 
room. 

The  woman  looked  half  pleased  and,  half  amused  at 
this  formality. 

Mr.  Jellybond  returned  with  a  tray,  on  which  were 
glasses,  biscuits,  and  a  decanter.  He  put  it  on  a  small 
table  beside  her,  poured  out  two  glasses  of  wine,  took 
one  himself,  and  left  her  in  command  of  the  decanter. 

"  Well,  here's  to  you,  Tinney,"  she  said,  lifting  the 
glass  to  her  lips — "  here's  luck." 

"  Here's  luck,"  he  responded. 

"And  how  are  you  gettin'  on?"  she  asked,  in  a  con- 
vivial tone. 

"  It  is  well  with  me,"  he  replied. 

"  Take  care,"  she  said.  "  It  mayn't  be  so  well  with 
you  as  you  flatter  yourself.  I'll  have  some  more  of  that 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

wine  " — she  helped  herself.     "  It's  better  nor  you  send 
me." 

Mr.  Jellybond  laughed  inaudibly. 

"  Well,  really  now,  it  is  the  very  same/'  he  said.  "  I 
protest  it  is." 

"  The  glass,  then,  is  of  a  better  quality,  and  gives  it 
a  finer  flavor,"  she  rejoined,  with  a  sneer.  "  But  take 
care — take  care.  Your  luck's  in  my  hands.  Just  how 
you  treat  me,  so  shall  you  prosper.  Haven't  I  told  you 
time  after  time  ?"  she  cried,  growing  vehement.  "  Haven't 
I  warned  you  ?  And  haven't  I  never  warned  you  a  day 
too  soon  ?  It's  not  me's  the  one  to  call  wolf  when  there 
isn't  none." 

Mr.  Jellybond's  countenance  lowered  as  he  listened. 

"  Is  there  anything  wrong  ?"  he  asked,  in  an  altered 
voice. 

"  Oh,  you're  givin'  me  your  best  attention  at  last,  are 
you?"  she  exclaimed.  "You're  not  the  boy  to  give 
nothin'  for  nothin',  I  know.  And  there  wasn't  no  fear 
of  your  givin'  two  f ourpenny  bits  for  a  sixpence,  neither, 
since  you  were  the  height  of  three  pen'orth  o'  coppers." 
She  finished  her  second  glass  of  wine.  "  But  you  want 
me  to  look  after  your  interests,  sharp  and  all  as  you  are ; 
you  can't  get  on  without  me.  And  I  do  look  after  your 
interests — doesn't  matter  how  you  treat  me.  Where 
would  you  be  now  but  for  me,  dunderhead  ?  It's  me's 
thought  of  everything  for  you  all  along.  You  can  do 
as  you're  told,  and  that's  all.  And  it's  well  for  you  that 
I  do  look  after  you — so  I  tell  you  again.  Three  times 
this  week  have  I  laid  the  cards  in  the  moonlight  for  you ; 
and  three  times  this  week  have  they  fallen  the  same." 

"  What  did  they  say  ?"  he  asked,  in  evident  anxiety. 

"  They  said '  Danger,  discovery,  defeat,  and  disgrace.' 
Now,  am  I  crying  wolf?" 

"  You  are  not  mistaken,  of  course  ?"  he  said. 

"  Mistaken  1"  she  retorted,  contemptuously. 

155 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  But  what  danger  is  threatening  ?  We  can  avoid  it 
if  we  know,"  he  put  in,  eagerly. 

"  I  can't  get  at  that  without  you,"  she  declared. 

"  Have  you  brought  the  cards  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Now  do  I— just  tell  me— do  I  look  like  a  fool  ?" 

"  You  are  discretion  itself,"  he  replied.  "  Of  course  it 
would  never  do  to  bring  them  here." 

"  No,  I  should  think  not,"  she  retorted ;  then  added, 
mincingly,  "  and  so  I  have  come  to  ask  you  to  join  a 
party  of  pleasure  to-morrow  evening  at  my  residence, 
Thorne  Lodge,  Danehurst." 

"  I  will  not  fail  you,"  he  replied. 

The  woman  rose,  poured  hersell  out  a  third  glass  of 
wine,  drank  it  off,  and  prepared  to  depart. 

Mr.  Jellybond  showed  her  to  the  door  down-stairs  as 
punctiliously  as  if  she  had  been  a  duchess. 

When  he  returned  he  poured  himself  out  another  glass 
of  wine,  and  then  began  to  pace  about  the  room  rest- 
lessly. After  some  reflection  he  rang  for  Mrs.  Dul- 
ditch. Manlike,  he  could  not  leave  well  alone.  He 
must  try  to  improve  the  situation  even  at  the  risk  of 
accentuating  it. 

"  If  that  person  comes  again,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Dul- 
ditch,  "you  must  say,  'Not  at  home/  'Not  at  home  ' 
does  not  mean  that  I  am  out,  Mrs.  Dulditch ;  it  means 
that  I  am  not  accessible.  If  I  could  do  anything  for 
that  poor  creature  I  certainly  would.  But  I  really 
think  that  the  doctor — or  rather  the  clergyman — is  bet- 
ter fitted  to  minister  to  her  spiritual  needs  than  I.  It  is 
the  mind,  Mrs.  Dulditch — the  mind." 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  engage,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Dulditch, 
"  that  you'll  talk  with  the  best  of  them." 

Mr.  Jellybond  smiled,  as  not  ill-pleased  at  the  compli- 
ment. 

"  1  like  to  do  what  1  can,"  he  said,  sighing — "  what 
1  can,  you  know.  It  is  only  right  that  we  should 

156 


BARS      THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

all  do  what  we  can.     Do  you  not  think  so,  Mrs.  Dul- 
ditch?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,  sir,"  Mrs.  Dulditch  agreed,  fervently, 
with  the  feeling  that  her  mind  was  being  improved. 

"  She  has  asked  me,  poor  thing,  to  go  and  see  her  to- 
morrow," Mr.  Jellybond  continued,  "  and  1  feel  1  must 
go.  She  would  like  me  to  read  to  her.  It  is  a  strange 
fancy,  when  there  is  Mr.  Worringham,  for  instance,  so 
much  better  fitted  for  the  task  By-the-by,  1  must  do 
what  1  can  to  interest  him  in  this  poor  creature.  Her 
great  trouble,  Mrs.  Dulditch,  is  unbelief.  She  wants 
to  believe,  and  she  cannot  believe.  Now  that,  when 
you  come  to  think  of  it,  is  very  sad — in  fact,  Mrs.  Dul- 
ditch, 1  may  say  it  is  awful.  She  is  a  fellow-creature, 
you  know,  and,  although  1  fear  to  take  too  much  upon 
myself,  it  seems  to  me  that  1  should  go  and  see  her.  1 
ought  not  to  consider  myself  at  all  in  the  matter,  per- 
haps." 

"  It  would  be  kind  to  go,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Dulditch. 

"  Well,  1  do  not  know,"  Mr.  Jellybond  observed,  depre- 
catingly ;  then  added  sotto  voce,  but  still  loud  enough 
for  her  to  hear,  "  perhaps  Mr.  Worringham  will  accom- 
pany me.  He  could  not  fail  to  help  and  comfort  her." 

When  Mrs.  Dulditch  left  him  Mr.  Jellybond  caught 
sight  of  his  handsome  person  in  a  strip  of  mirror  that 
reached  from  floor  to  ceiling.  He  went  up  to  it,  gazed 
at  himself  a  moment,  then  stepped  back,  and,  with  an 
immovable  countenance,  solemnly  danced  a  fling.  He 
danced  it  extremely  well,  too,  and  so  lightly  that  no  one 
in  the  next  room  could  have  heard  him.  The  big  man's 
confidence  seemed  to  be  restored  by  his  agile  gyrations. 
Mr.  Worringham  would  have  prayed  had  his  mind  been 
disturbed  ;  Mr.  Jellybond  danced  ;  and  the  result  was 
the  same — a  circumstance  worth  noticing  as  an  instance 
of  the  difficulty  of  laying  down  laws  for  the  guidance  of 
distressed  human  beings. 

157 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

Mr.  Jellybond  returned  to  his  entrancing  book,  and 
remained  absorbed  in  its  contents  until  midnight  ;  then 
suddenly  sleep  came  upon  him,  the  book  slipped  from 
his  hand,  and  he  fell  into  a  gentle,  dreamless  doze.  It 
did  not  last  long  enough,  however,  for  him  to  know  that 
he  had  been  asleep.  He  fancied  he  had  been  conscious 
of  the  noises  about  him — of  the  fire  crackling  in  the 
grate,  of  the  rustling  of  leaves,  and,  above  all,  of  the 
melodious  notes  of  the  nightingale  trilling  the  story  of 
his  whereabouts,  of  his  love  and  longing,  and  calling 
persistently  to  the  tardy  mate  who  might  pass  him  in  the 
darkness  if  she  did  not  hear  his  song.  There  is  some- 
thing enthralling  in  bird  notes  at  night,  an.d  Mr.  Jelly- 
bond's  voluptuous  nature,  which  had  already  been 
stirred  to  its  depths  by  "  Ouida  "  and  wine,  experienced 
a  rapturous  thrill  when  he  gradually  awoke  to  the  charm 
of  the  hour.  But  man  is  not  made  to  live  alone,  and  Mr. 
Jellybond's  perfect  content  was  somewhat  marred  by  a 
sleepy  longing  for  Cleopatra. 

The  nightingale  came  closer  to  the  window.  The 
full,  pure  notes  of  its  mellow  call  filled  the  room.  Mr. 
Jellybond  lay  with  closed  eyes.  The  bird's  song  min- 
gled with  his  pleasant  thoughts.  But  suddenly  certain 
words  passed  through  his  mind  with  chilling  effect  like  a 
dark  shadow  on  a  sunlit  sea  :  "  Danger,  discovery,  de- 
feat, and  disgrace,"  and  just  at  that  moment  his  ears 
were  filled  with  a  strange,  alarming  cry.  He  raised 
himself  on  his  elbow  to  listen.  He  was  superstitious, 
and  for  a  moment  he  believed  that  the  sound  was  not  of 
this  world.  His  heart  beat  loudly  ;  his  limbs  were 
paralyzed.  He  was  obliged,  whether  he  would  or  not,  to 
be  still  and  listen.  In  a  few  seconds,  however,  alarm 
changed  to  wonder. 

The  first  utterance  had  been  a  disconsolate  shriek 
like  the  wail  of  a  banshee,  but  it  was  quickly  followed  in 
quite  a  different  key  by  a  succession  of  other  utterances 

158 


CONFOUND   THOSE   CATS  !'   HE   SAID  " 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

which  had  the  effect  of  somewhat  reassuring  the  listener. 
The  sounds  arose  from  the  garden  below,  and  he  was 
soon  convinced  that  they  were  caused  by  a  human  being  ; 
but  whether  the  person  were  in  dire  distress  of  body  or 
were  simply  a  lunatic  at  large  he  could  not  at  first  de- 
termine. He  began  to  distinguish  some  attempt  at  a 
song,  however,  which  caused  him  to  lean  to  the  lunatic 
theory.  The  voice  ascended  and  descended  a  wonderful 
scale  unknown  to  modern  musicians.  It  paused  to  pro- 
long a  note  here,  then  dropped  to  quaver  on  another 
there,  then  remounted  backward,  so  to  speak,  and  awk- 
wardly, as  if  it  could  not  see  where  it  was  going,  till  it 
was  arrested  by  tumbling  up  against  an  obstacle  which 
was  too  high  for  it  to  surmount,  when  it  cracked  and  fell 
fiat  once  more,  down  in  the  depths,  whence,  without 
pause,  it  reascended  courageously  time  after  time.  Mr. 
Jellybond  sat  listening  in  mingled  horror  and  astonish- 
ment. A  maniac,  he  reflected,  was  a  dangerous  creat- 
ure, with  the  strength  of  ten  men.  What  should  he  do  ? 
But  here,  happily,  he  remembered  that  his  room  was  up- 
stairs. No  creature  without  wings  or  the  agility  of  a 
monkey  could  scale  the  balcony.  This  was  reassuring, 
and,  once  he  felt  safe,  he  began  to  be  curious.  He  re- 
membered that  the  window  was  open,  and,  after  hurriedly 
turning  out  the  lamps,  he  stole  on  tiptoe  towards  it. 
Cautiously  he  drew  back  the  curtains,  and  peering  out 
into  the  moonlight  that  lay  before  the  heavily  shadowed 
veranda,  he  tried  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  disturber  of 
his  peace,  but  she  (the  creature  was  of  the  treble  sex) 
was  standing  too  close  to  the  house  to  be  visible  from  his 
window. 

The  night  is  bright ; 

The  white  moonlight 

Falls  soft  on  flower  and  tree. 

Oh,  love,  my  dear, 

Arise,  appear ! 

I  fain  would  comfort  thee, 
159 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

were  the  words  which  he  now  distinguished.  Mr.  Jelly- 
bond's  curiosity  got  the  better  of  him.  As  he  listened 
he  felt  sure  that  his  serenader  was  not  a  maniac  of  the 
raving  kind.  But  who  on  earth  could  she  be  ?  Hunk- 
ering down,  he  stole  across  the  deep  veranda  to  peep 
through  the  creepers  which  covered  the  wooden  balus- 
trade. He  had  begun  to  feel  amused ;  but  when,  on 
peeping  through  the  leaves,  he  discovered  Miss  Spice, 
he  collapsed  upon  the  floor  and  rolled  about  in  an  ec- 
stasy of  silent  mirth. 

Recovering  himself,  he  peeped  again,  and  watched 
her  for  a  little  as  she  stood  throwing  up  her  arms,  toss- 
ing her  curls  from  side  to  side,  fluttering  her  ribbons, 
and  writhing  herself  into  attitudes  which  were  pain- 
fully indicative  of  her  earnestness. 

But  what  was  to  be  done  ?  The  weird  chant  seemed 
likely  to  continue  until  he  yielded,  and  the  position  was 
embarrassing.  If  his  own  servants  or  any  stray  passer- 
by should  hear  her  and  be  attracted  by  the  noise,  it  would 
be  known  all  over  the  country-side  to-morrow  that  Mr. 
Jellybond  had  been  serenaded  by  Miss  Spice,  and  he 
would  be  made  ridiculous  forever.  The  thought  was 
intolerable.  But  how  to  get  rid  of  her  ?  If  she  had  not 
made  such  a  row  he  might  have  appeared,  acting  on 
another  of  his  principles,  that  which  inclined  him  to 
make  the  most  of  the  good  things  the  gods  sent  him ; 
but  under  the  circumstances  he  was  too  wary  to  commit 
himself. 

Suddenly  a  brilliant  idea  occurred  to  him.  He  thought 
he  saw  a  way  not  only  to  silence  her  for  the  present 
but  to  quench  her  flame  forever. 

On  all  fours  he  crept  back  across  the  veranda,,  and 
noiselessly  entered  the  house.  In  a  few  minutes  he  re- 
appeared at  the  window  ;  but  this  time  he  pretended  to 
open  it,  making  as  much  clatter  as  possible.  Then  he 
raised  a  large  bath,  which  he  had  brought  from  his  dress- 

160 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

ing-room,  walked  heavily  with  it  to  that  part  of  the  ve- 
randa whence  the  sounds  arose,  balanced  it  for  a  mo- 
ment on  the  rail :  "Confound  those  cats  1"  he  said,  and 
flung  the  water,  with  a  swish,  plump  onto  the  devoted 
head  of  poor  little  Miss  Spice. 

Mr.  Jellybond  heard  a  half-drowned  shriek  as  he  re- 
tired to  the  window.  Thence,  by  the  bright  moonlight, 
he  watched  the  little  woman,  with  dripping  garments 
clinging  to  her  limbs,  the  skimpy  tail  of  her  dress  drag- 
gling behind  her  and  making  her  look  like  a  white  ban- 
tam on  a  wet  day,  as  she  stumbled  across  the  lawn  and 
down  the  drive. 

"  It  won't  do  you  any  harm,  you  dear,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, in  his  kind-hearted  way. 

He  had  taken  the  water  from  the  warm-water  tap,  so 
as  not  to  give  her  too  much  of  a  shock.  He  was  such  a 
thoughtful  man. 

L  161 


CHAPTER     XVII 

THE  day  after  Miss  Spice's  serenade,  in  the  early 
morning,  Babs  was  sitting  at  her  dressing-table 
having  her  hair  dressed  by  Bertha,  her  maid. 
The  glass  in  front  of  her  was  tilted  so  that  she 
could  not  see  herself  when  she  looked  up — a  sure  sign 
that  Babs  was  out  of  sorts.     She  was  at  a  difficult  age, 
and  she  had  her  bad  days — days  of  disgust  with  every- 
thing— when  everybody  irritated  her  more  or  less,  and 
she  irritated  everybody. 

"  Miss  Lorraine,  you've  got  out  of  bed  wrong  way 
first  this  morning,  and  if  you  slap  me  again  I'll  have 
to  go  and  complain  to  your  ma,"  Bertha  was  saying, 
as  she  wiped  the  eye  which  was  watering  copiously 
from  a  back-handed  knock  from  Babs. 

"  You  can  go  and  tell  the  devil  if  you  like,"  Babs  ejac- 
ulated. 

"  Your  language  is  most  unbecoming,  miss." 

*  It's  no  business  of  yours  what  my  language  is,"  Babs 
snapped.  "  Your  duty  is  to  brush  my  hair  and  hold 
your  tongue." 

Bertha  tried  again,  but  her  pretty,  dimpled  face  was 
crumpled  with  a  threat  of  tears — one  of  which  fell  at 
last,  splash,  on  her  young  mistress's  neck. 

Babs  looked  round. 

"  Are  you  crying,  Bertha  ?"  she  exclaimed.  "  Good 
gracious !  what  will  you  do  next  ?" 

Bertha  took  out  her  pocket-handkerchief  and  sobbed. 

Babs  bent  her  head  and  reflected  a  moment. 

162 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  I'm  sorry  if  I've  been  horrid/'  she  said,  at  last,  in 
an  altered  voice.  "  It  isn't  you,  you  know,  it's  myself 
that's  all  wrong.  There,  stop  crying,  and  I'll  give 
you — "  she  looked  about  for  something  on  her  dressing- 
table — "  I'll  give  you  this  brooch.  See  how  pretty  it  is  ! 
Gold  filigree." 

"  1  don't  want  any  brooches,  thank  you,"  Bertha  re- 
plied, with  one  eye  on  the  ornament  and  the  other  on  her 
own  dignity.  "  1  only  want  to  be  treated  like  a  human 
being,  and  given  the  credit  for  it  when  I'm  doing  my 
best.  You've  got  everything  in  this  world  provided  for 
you,  Miss  Lorraine,  that's  worth  having.  If  you'd  got 
to  work  for  the  bare  necessaries  of  life,  ill  or  well,  wet 
days  or  fine,  in  the  mood  or  out  of  the  mood,  and  keep  a 
smiling  countenance,  you'd  know  the  difference.  Sure- 
ly it  wouldn't  cost  you  much  to  have  a  little  considera- 
tion for  me  that  has  nothing  but  what  1  earn — and  has 
lost  so  much." 

Bertha  referred  to  her  parents,  who  were  dead.  Her 
father  had  been  a  respectable  tenant  farmer,  ruined  by 
bad  times  ;  and  service  was  a  come-down  in  the  world 
for  Bertha. 

But  Babs  had  heard  that  plaint  before,  and  was  not  in 
the  mood  to  be  moved  by  it  that  morning  ;  it  merely 
bored  her. 

"  Well,  leave  off  sniffing,  anyway,"  she  said,  giving 
the  mirror  in  front  of  her  a  push  to  bring  it  back  to  its 
place.  "  Be  amiable  and  talk  about  something.  Js 
there  any  news  ?  If  you  were  more  entertaining  1 
shouldn't  be  so  irritable.  By-the-way,  what's  become 
of  Susannah  ?  Why  was  she  sent  away  in  such  a  hurry?" 

Bertha  pursed  up  her  mouth. 

"  Eh  ?"  said  Babs,  impatiently. 

"  I'm  ordered  not  to  tell  you,  because  it  isn't  proper  for 
young  ladies  to  know,"  Bertha  answered,  with  rigid  pro- 
priety. 

163 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Oh,  then  it's  sure  to  be  something  interesting/'  Babs 
ejaculated.  "  I'll  have  to  ferret  it  out,  1  suppose.  What 
on  earth  are  all  these  mysteries  about,  Bertha?  I'm 
always  wondering.  Has  Susannah  got  another  place  ?" 

"  No,  miss  ;  she's  been  very  bad." 

"  Wicked  ?" 

"  Well,  a  little  of  that  too.     But  I  meant  ill." 

"  Is  she  ill  now  ?"  Babs  demanded. 

"  Yes,"  Bertha  answered,  "  and  she's  starving  too. 
Her  mother's  so  poor  she  hasn't  clothes  to  cover  her,  nor 
proper  food  to  give  her  to  eat." 

"  WThat  would  be  proper  food  ?"  Babs  asked. 

"  Oh,  fowls  and  jellies  and  wine — anything  strength- 
ening, you  know,"  said  Bertha. 

"  Why  hasn't  mamma  sent  her  all  that  she  requires  ?" 
Babs  demanded. 

Bertha  pursed  up  her  mouth  again. 

"  I  shall  go  straight  to  mamma  and  ask  her,"  said 
Babs. 

"You'd  better  not,  miss;  take  my  advice,"  Bertha 
conjured  her. 

Babs  gave  her  the  snub  which  is  ever  ready,  by  way 
of  reward,  for  the  gratuitous  givers  of  good  advice. 

When  she  was  dressed  she  went  down-stairs.  The 
rest  of  the  party  were  already  seated  at  breakfast.  Babs 
burst  into  the  room,  slammed  the  door  after  her,  and 
took  her  own  seat  at  table  in  noisy  haste. 

"My  dear  child!"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  exclaimed; 
"  where  are  your  manners  ?" 

Babs  frowned  at  her  interrogatively. 

"  You  haven't  said  good-morning  to  anybody." 

"  Good-morning,  everybody,"  Babs  snapped. 

The  greeting  was  received  with  ironical  bows  by  Julia 
and  Montacute. 

"  You've  put  on  that  shabby  frock  again,  Babs,"  Mrs. 
Kingconstance  proceeded.  "  I  told  you  not  to." 

164 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  I  forgot,"  said  Babs. 

"  Forgot,  my  dear  child  !"  her  mother  exclaimed. 
"  You  must  not  forget.  How  would  it  be  if  everybody 
forgot  as  you  do?  I  must  request  you  not  to  forget 
again.  What  is  the  matter  with  you  this  morning? 
You  look  anything  but  amiable." 

"  I'm  not  amiable,"  said  Babs. 

"  Then  you  ought  to  be,"  her  mother  said.  "  You 
have  nothing  to  make  you  unamiable.  If  you  had,  I 
don't  know  what  you  would  be  like.  You  should  really 
try  to  cultivate  more  gracious  manners.  Look  at  Mr. 
Jellybond  Tinney.  He  has  had  every  kind  of  reverse 
and  trouble  in  his  life,  yet  he's  always  cheery." 

"  Oh,  don't  quote  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  to  me,"  said 
Babs.  "  I  hate  him.  I  hate  his  big,  soft  hands ;  I  hate 
his  smug  face  ;  I  hate  the  way  he  walks.  He's  a  beast." 

"  I  should  think  that's  done  you  good,  Babs,"  said 
Montacute. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Babs  ?"  Miss  Kingconstance 
asked,  kindly.  "  What  have  you  got  on  your  mind  ?" 

"  All  the  misery  there  is  in  the  world,"  Babs  rejoined. 
"  Just  think  of  somebody  within  a  stone's  throw  of  you 
dying  of  hunger,  while  you  have  too  much  to  eat !" 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  her  mother,  "  what  can  put  such 
morbid  ideas  into  your  head  ?  No  deserving  person 
would  ever  be  allowed  to  die  of  hunger  here." 

"  Susannah  is  dying  of  hunger,"  said  Babs. 

The  ladies  changed  countenance. 

"  Susannah  is  not  a  deserving  person,  and  her  name 
must  not  be  mentioned,"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  admon- 
ished her,  emphatically. 

"  Oh,  all  right.  But  I  want  to  know — "  Babs  was  be- 
ginning. 

"  You  shall  know  nothing  upon  that  subject,"  her 
mother  declared. 

"  But  if  Susannah  is  ill  and  hungry  and  cold — " 

165 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Babs,  once  for  all,  I  insist/'  Mrs.  Kingconstance 
interrupted,  as  sternly  as  it  was  in  her  to  speak.  "  You 
must  drop  that  subject." 

"  I  see/'  said  Babs,  defiantly ;  "  the  Lord  did  not  die 
for  Susannah,  evidently." 

"  Really,  you  are  a  wicked  girl,"  her  mother  exclaimed, 
"  and  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  punish  you.  You  must  go  to 
the  school-room  and  stay  there  for  the  rest  of  the  day." 

"  Thank  goodness  !"  said  Babs,  jumping  up.  "  I 
shall  have  some  time  to  myself.  Take  care  of  dear 
Julia." 

She  flung  out  of  the  room  as  she  had  entered  it,  slam- 
ming the  door  after  her. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  that  child,  she  is  so 
tiresome,"  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance,  plaintively. 

"  Let  her  alone,  I  should  think,"  her  sister-in-law  sug- 
gested. 

"  But  she  must  be  corrected." 

"  There's  a  time  for  everything,"  Miss  Kingconstance 
reminded  her. 

"  I  wish  the  holidays  were  over  and  Miss  Minton 
were  back,"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  ejaculated. 

Babs  waylaid  her  aunt  as  she  passed  the  school-room 
door,  and  appealed  to  her  on  behalf  of  Susannah.  Miss 
Kingconstance  was  usually  sympathetic  and  anxious 
to  help  in  any  case  of  distress ;  but  in  this  instance  she 
was  as  obdurate  as  her  sister-in-law. 

The  moment  Babs  mentioned  Susannah  she  stiffened. 

"  Susannah  is  a  wicked  girl,"  she  said,  in  a  hard  voice. 
"  I  will  do  nothing  for  her."  She  set  her  lips  when  she 
had  spoken,  and  went  her  way. 

"  You're  all  very  sweet  and  Christian  to  poor  Susan- 
nah," Babs  called  after  her. 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  was  bringing  up  her  daughters 
on  the  old  plan — having  all  the  facts  of  life  carefully  con- 
cealed from  them,  and  leaving  them  to  depend  upon  their 

1 66 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

own  primitive  instincts  for  guidance,  since  they  had  no 
knowledge  to  help  them.  Babs  was  quite  at  a  loss  to 
imagine  any  sufficient  reason  for  all  this  stern  contempt 
for  Susannah.  She  spent  a  good  part  of  the  day  alone 
in  the  school-room,  sitting  in  the  window  with  a  book 
open  on  her  lap,  thinking  about  it.  She  saw  her  mother 
and  aunt  go  for  a  drive  together  after  luncheon,  and 
then  she  saw  Montacute  and  Julia  scamper  off  together 
on  their  ponies  ;  but  she  hadn't  the  slightest  wish  to  join 
them.  She  was  altogether  indolent  and  indifferent  to 
them  all,  so  long  as  the  sun  shone  in  at  the  open  window 
where  she  was  sitting  and  the  air  was  sweet.  But  as 
the  day  advanced  the  sun  disappeared,  the  wind  began 
to  rise,  and  the  old  trees  rocked  drearily.  Babs  was 
always  susceptible  to  atmospheric  influences.  The 
long,  quiet,  idle  hours  in  the  school-room  had  done  her 
good.  Her  nervous  irritability  had  subsided,  and  she 
was  feeling  more  like  her  normal  self,  when  the  weather 
changed.  Had  the  calm  continued,  she  might  have 
stayed  in  the  school-room  happily  until  she  had  per- 
mission to  leave  it;  but  the  rising  gale  had  the  effect 
of  exciting  her  to  action.  As  she  heard  it  swish  through 
the  trees  and  saw  the  great  branches  tossed  and  torn  by  it 
she  longed  to  be  out  in  the  open  ;  she  imagined  herself, 
with  outstretched  arms,  sustained  by  the  wind,  floating 
on  it,  borne  away  by  it  to  some  ecstatic  region  where  it 
was  all  ease  and  beauty  and  brightness.  She  thought 
she  would  like  to  take  Susannah  with  her.  Poor  Susan- 
nah !  Babs's  heart  contracted  when  she  thought  how 
very  little  ease  and  beauty  and  brightness  she  had  had 
in  her  life.  How  horrid  it  was  of  her  mother  and  aunt 
not  to  help  the  poor  girl !  But  why  shouldn't  she,  Babs, 
help  her  ?  She  had  money  to  give  her  to  buy  covering, 
but  the  food  was  the  difficulty.  She  had  had  her  lunch- 
eon sent  to  her  in  the  school-room,  so  that  they  would 
know  down-stairs  that  she  was  shut  up,  and  it  would  not 

167 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

do  to  show  herself.  She  must  get  the  food  in  some  other 
way.  It  never  occurred  to  her  that  money  would  buy 
food  as  well  as  covering.  She  had  got  one  idea  into  her 
clever  head,  and  that  idea  was  that  food,  simply  and 
literally,  and  not  the  means  to  obtain  it,  was  the  proper 
thing  to  take  to  Susannah.  And  Bertha  had  said  that 
"  good  things  "  were  the  most  suitable,  and  had  particu- 
larly mentioned  fowls.  Babs  did  not  care  much  for 
fowls  herself,  but  she  thought  it  likely  that  they  pos- 
sessed some  quality  specially  adapted  to  do  good  under 
the  circumstances. 

Fowls  1  How  was  she  to  get  them  ?  There  were  cer- 
tain to  be  some  in  the  larder.  What  a  nuisance  it  was 
that  she  was  shut  up  !  She  did  not  hesitate  to  leave  the 
school-room  when  she  felt  inclined ;  she  only  drew  the  line 
at  showing  herself  to  the  servants.  But  the  question  of 
fowls  still  occupied  her.  There  were  plenty  about  the 
place.  The  children  had  hen-houses  and  pet  fowls  of 
their  own.  Montacute's  were  Cochin  China,  Julia's 
were  golden  pheasant,  her  own  were  black  Spanish — 
and  hers  were  by  far  the  finest  of  the  lot,  the  best  cared 
for,  and  the  fattest.  The  children  were  supposed  to  look 
after  their  pets  themselves  for  discipline — to  teach  them 
kindness,  and  inspire  some  sense  of  responsibility ;  but 
there  was  always  some  one  to  feed  Miss  Babs's  pets  for 
her  when  she  forgot  them,  as  not  infrequently  happened 
for  days  together. 

Babs  was  just  thinking  how  unfair  it  was  that  she 
should,  merely  for  her  amusement,  possess  so  many  of 
these  necessaries  for  starving  women,  when  she  sudden- 
ly saw  the  possibility  of  turning  her  fowls  to  account. 
She  did  not  stop  a  moment  to  bring  her  idea  to  perfection 
by  careful  consideration.  That  it  seemed  feasible  at 
first  sight  was  enough  for  her.  She  was  too  impulsive 
to  think,  to  delay  the  execution  of  any  new  project  for 
a  moment. 

168 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

Forgetful  of  everything  else,  she  jumped  down  from 
her  perch  on  the  window-sill,  pulled  her  garden-hat  off 
its  peg,  put  it  on,  wrong  side  foremost  in  her  haste,  and 
dashed  down-stairs  and  out  of  the  house. 

Bertha,  the  maid,  from  a  gallery  up-stairs,  saw  her 
flying  across  the  hall,  and  mentally  ejaculated :  "  Miss 
Babs  again  !  Whatever  is  she  up  to  now  ?" 

Babs  ran  on  and  turned  down  a  little  shady  by-path 
on  her  left,  at  the  end  of  which  was  a  door  leading  into 
the  stable-yard.  She  crossed  the  yard  without  meeting 
any  one,  but  was  stopped  for  a  moment  at  the  other  end 
by  a  six-barred  gate  which  divided  it  from  the  farm-yard 
beyond.  The  gate  was  locked  ;  but  Babs  climbed  up  it 
without  hesitation.  On  the  top  she  caught  her  foot  in 
her  dress,  and  fell  in  a  heap  to  the  ground  on  the  other 
side.  "  Confound  my  petticoats  \"  she  ejaculated.  She 
was  dazed  and  bruised,  and  had  to  hold  by  the  gate  for 
a  few  seconds  to  steady  herself  before  she  set  off  again. 
On  she  went,  however,  limping  a  little  at  first,  between 
great  stacks,  until  she  came  to  another  door  in  a  low  wall 
which  led  into  a  paddock.  In  the  paddock  on  the  left 
of  this  door  were  the  pigsties,  and  on  the  right  were  the 
children's  hen-houses  and  accommodation  for  their  pets 
generally.  At  the  farther  end  of  the  row  of  pigsties  there 
was  a  spacious  room,  with  a  furnace-place,  boilers,  and 
every  convenience  for  slaying  pigs  and  curing  hams 
and  bacon.  At  the  end  of  the  room  there  was  a  great  pile 
of  cord-wood.  A  hatchet  lay  on  the  ground  beside  the 
pile.  In  the  centre  was  a  large  butcher's  block.  On 
the  lime-washed  walls  there  were  innumerable  hooks. 

Babs's  big  black  Spanish  fowls  were  wandering  all 
over  the  paddock.  She  began  to  chase  them,  and  suc- 
ceeded in  catching  one  and  driving  three  others  into  the 
bacon-room.  She  had  taken  the  largest  that  came, 
without  regard  to  age  or  sex.  Having  shut  the  door, 
she  tore  a  strip  from  her  petticoat,  tied  together  the  legs 

169 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

of  the  fowl  she  had  caught,  and  hung  it,  head  down- 
ward, from  one  of  the  hooks.  Then  she  caught  the 
other  three  fowls,  and  hung  them  up  in  the  same  way. 
When  the  last  was  secured,  she  took  them  all  down  to- 
gether and  prepared  to  start.  But,  besides  being  very 
heavy,  the  poor  fowls  were  very  strong ;  and  they  napped 
and  struggled  and  cackled  so  furiously  she  could  hard- 
ly hold  them.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  It  would  be  im- 
possible to  carry  them  along  the  public  road  kicking  and 
screeching  like  that.  Babs  looked  about  her  in  despair, 
and  her  eye  lighted  on  the  hatchet.  A  cold  shiver  shook 
every  sensitive  fibre  of  her  frame.  "  But  somebody  will 
have  to  do  it,"  she  said  to  herself ;  and  then  there  flashed 
through  her  mind  the  text,  "  Bear  ye  one  another's  bur- 
dens." 

A  curious  state  of  exaltation  succeeded  that  first  cold 
shiver.  In  a  perfect  frenzy  of  haste,  she  tore  another 
strip  from  her  petticoat,  bound  the  four  black  fowls  to- 
gether by  their  legs,  and  laid  them  on  the  block.  "  An 
acceptable  sacrifice,"  occurred  to  her  as  she  did  it.  But 
the  fowls  squirmed  about  in  all  directions,  and  she  was 
obliged  to  tie  their  heads  together  as  well  as  their  legs, 
to  keep  them  quiet  on  the  block.  Her  religious  excite- 
ment increased,  though  her  blood  ran  cold  and  hot.  In 
all  ages  the  crudest  deeds  have  been  done  in  the  name 
of  some  deity.  The  modern  vivisectionist  cants  about 
"  suffering  humanity "  to  cover  his  crimes ;  and  that 
catchword,  coming  into  her  mind,  acted  like  a  lash  upon 
Babs.  Had  she  hesitated  a  moment — had  she  trans- 
ferred a  scrap  of  her  pity  for  suffering  humanity  to  her 
poor  old  hens — she  could  not  have  done  it.  But,  as  it  was, 
she  seized  the  hatchet,  raised  it,  and  brought  it  down 
with  all  her  might.  The  instant  it  fell,  however,  she  let 
it  go  and  rushed  from  the  place.  Her  pony,  which  was 
grazing  near,  came  cantering  up  to  her.  Glad  of  the 
support  of  any  living  creature,  she  flung  her  arms  round 

170 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

his  neck  and  hugged  him  close.  Her  heart  beat  wildly ; 
she  thought  she  must  suffocate.  But  presently,  recov- 
ering herself,  she  returned  to  the  bacon-room.  She  tried 
to  lure  the  pony  in  with  her  for  company ;  but  when  he 
got  to  the  door  he  sniffed  suspiciously  and  refused  to 
enter. 

"  Off  with  you,  then  !"  she  exclaimed,  giving  him  a 
sounding  slap,  which  sent  him  cantering  across  the  pad- 
dock, and  served  to  brace  up  her  own  nerves  again  to 
action. 

The  fowls  had,  in  their  last  struggles,  fallen  from  the 
block  to  the  ground,  where  the  four  black  bodies  lay — 
still  united  by  their  legs — their  heads  remaining  to- 
gether in  a  little  heap  on  the  block.  They  seemed  to  be 
dead,  and  Babs  seized  them  without  hesitation ;  but  the 
moment  she  touched  them,  they  quivered  and  shot  out 
their  legs  in  a  last  convulsive  shudder.  Babs  dropped 
them  and  ran ;  and  it  was  some  minutes  before  she  could 
control  her  distaste  enough  to  touch  them  again. 

At  last,  however,  taking  a  little  cardinal  cape  from  her 
shoulders,  she  flung  the  fowls  and  their  heads  into  it  in 
desperate  haste,  and  set  off  with  the  bundle  at  full  speed 
across  the  paddock,  over  two  adjoining  fields — forgetting 
for  once,  in  her  excitement,  the  terrible  bull  which  was 
sometimes  loose  in  one  of  them — and  so,  through  a  gap 
in  the  hedge,  to  the  high-road,  where  she  was  obliged  to 
slacken  speed  for  a  while  to  recover  breath. 

Had  Babs  not  been  in  such  a  hurry  she  might  have 
heard  a  smothered  guffaw  from  the  top  of  the  wood- 
stack  just  as  she  made  her  final  exit  from  the  bacon- 
room. 

Mr.  Clodd  Dulditch,  having  been  sent  there  to  chop 
wood,  had  just  climbed  the  stack,  and  was  preparing  to 
indulge  in  a  siesta  on  the  top  when  Babs  appeared. 
She  never  thought  of  looking  up  there,  and  thus  he 

171 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

found  himself  an  undisturbed  spectator  of  the  whole 
episode.  He  was  hugely  tickled ;  his  mouth  had  been 
on  the  broad  grin  all  the  time ;  and  when  the  dead  fowls 
kicked  out  at  Babs  and  sent  her  flying  he  could  hardly 
contain  himself. 

"  She  be  a  rum  shot/'  he  reflected,  when  his  mirth 
had  subsided  a  little  and  he  was  gathering  himself  up  in 
order  to  climb  down  from  his  eminent  position.  "  She 
be  a  rum  shot,  an'  no  mistake.  But  wotiver  could  she  'a' 
done  it  fur?  If  I'd  'a'  knowed  wot  she  were  up  to,  I'd 
'a'  done  it  fur  'er  meself  wi'  the  greatest  o'  pleasure." 
Clodd  said  it  mincingly  ;  he  always  talked  fine  when  he 
felt  particularly  gallant.  "  But  she  did  it  all  of  a  'cap 
like,  an'  I'd  no  idee  she  were  going  so  fur.  Howsumiver, 
I'll  not  split  on  'er.  An',  wot's  more,  I'll  clean  up  after 
'er.  A  pretty  pigeon  she  is  to  do  aught  on  the  sly,"  he 
continued,  looking  round  contemptuously  on  the  traces 
Babs  had  left  of  her  deed.  "  Now,  supposin'  any  one 
found  this  'ere  place  in  such  a  state  o'  carnage,  my  eyes  ! 
what  a  to-do  and  inquiree  there'd  be.  Oh  no  1" 

And  Clodd  the  Lazy  trudged  off  for  water  with  which 

"  to  swill  up." 

172 


CHAPTER      XVI  I  I 

THERE  are  of  the  majority  who  do  not  believe  in 
the  inner  voice ;  so  also  are  there  people  who 
are  color-blind.  But  since  the  beginning  of 
tradition  there  has  been  an  unbroken  record  in 
evidence  of  the  fact  that  there  is  in  mankind  a  guiding 
power  which  has  been  known  at  various  times  by  various 
names.  Some  have  called  it  inspiration,  others  intuition. 
It  has  been  positively  personified  as  an  angel — the  angel 
of  many  messages ;  or,  more  vaguely,  as  the  daemon  or 
genius  of  some  one  person.  The  Quaker  described  it 
as  the  spirit  that  moved  him.  We  have  some  vague  idea 
of  the  conditions  favorable  to  the  development  of  this 
power — we  know,  that  is  to  say,  that  it  can  be  cultivated, 
as  the  seed  that  is  put  in  the  ground  is  cultivated,  by 
careful  enrichment  of  the  soil,  only  it  is  not  sowed  as  a 
seed — at  least,  we  have  no  knowledge  of  the  fact  if  it  be. 
All  we  know  is  that  some  of  us  find  it  in  ourselves,  and 
that  by  no  effort  of  will  can  we  control  it.  We  cannot 
make  it  speak.  If  we  question  it,  there  is  no  response. 
It  comes  into  our  consciousness  we  know  not  how  ;  all 
we  know  is  that  it  does  come.  And  it  comes  at  the  right 
moment,  too,  when  we  have  real  need  of  it,  not  when  we 
merely  think  that  we  have.  In  moments  of  dishearten- 
ment  it  comes  for  our  comfort,  in  moments  of  peril  for  our 
help,  in  moments  of  doubt  for  our  enlightenment,  and  in 
moments  of  difficulty  for  our  guidance.  It  does  not 
follow  that  we  shall  always  understand  it ;  but  sooner 
or  later  its  meaning  is  made  clear. 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

All  her  conscious  life  Babs  had  been  subject  to  that  in- 
ward monitor,  that  power  which  shapes  a  phrase  in  the 
mind  at  critical  times,  and  she  had  accepted  the  occur- 
rence without  doubt  or  question,  and  as  a  matter  of 
course.  Had  she  thought  of  it  at  all,  she  would  have  as- 
sumed that  the  same  thing  happened  to  everybody,  that 
grown-up  people  understood  all  about  it,  and  that  she, 
too,  would  understand  all  about  it  by-and-by.  She  had 
spoken  of  it  to  Cadenhouse,  and  he  had  perfectly  compre- 
hended her  ;  but  as  a  rule  she  did  not  allude  to  it.  Sensi- 
tive people  do  not  allude  to  subjects  that  are  sacred  to 
themselves,  unless  they  are  sure  of  sympathetic  attention. 

Of  all  the  suggestions  that  had  come  to  Babs,  "  suffer- 
ing humanity  "  was  the  most  potent  in  its  urging.  From 
the  moment  the  phrase  shaped  itself  in  her  conscious- 
ness it  laid  hold  of  her.  As  she  proceeded  along  the 
high-road  after  the  ordeal  through  which  she  had  just 
struggled  the  words  ran  on  in  her  mind  incessantly, 
and  as  they  repeated  themselves  she  experienced  a  de- 
lightful sense  of  exhilaration.  The  heavy  old  hens 
made  her  arms  ache;  but  the  pain  only  added  to  her 
excitement.  She  was  like  a  fanatic  who  feels  no  fine 
enthusiasm  of  devotion  without  actual  bodily  suffering. 

Presently  she  had  to  leave  the  high-road  and  plunge 
into  the  forest  of  Danehurst.  Here  there  was  little  more 
than  a  track  for  her  to  follow  ;  but  she  knew  her  way. 
On  either  hand  there  were  sloping  banks,  covered  with 
moss  and  ferns  and  tendrils  of  ground-ivy.  Languidly 
the  old  trees  which  formed  the  fringe  of  the  forest,  oak 
and  elm  and  beech,  tossed  their  heavy  limbs  about,  and 
swayed  and  groaned  in  the  rising  gale.  Farther  on 
there  were  only  pines,  dark  pines,  with  waving  plumes 
that  cast  strange,  deep  shadows  on  the  slight  figure  as  it 
passed  beneath  them.  As  Babs  proceeded  her  spirits 
gradually  rose  to  a  still  higher  pitch  of  awe  and  exalta- 
tion. In  the  dreary  soughing  of  the  wind  through  the 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

forest  she  fancied  she  heard  human  plaints.     Suffering 
humanity  was  all  about  her,  urging  her  on  to  the  rescue. 

The  cottage  stood  on  a  lonely  spot  deep  in  the  wood. 
There  were  no  other  dwellings  within  a  mile.  To  reach 
it  Babs  was  obliged  to  turn  off  from  the  main  track  and 
follow  an  indistinct  grassy  path  through  a  broad  glade. 
She  had  passed  the  place  often  enough,  but  had  never 
been  inside  it.  Externally  there  were  no  signs  of  the 
great  distress  she  expected  to  find.  On  the  contrary, 
suffering  humanity  had  evidently  been  busy  putting  it 
all  in  order.  The  high  thatched  roof  had  been  newly 
mended,  the  garden  was  well  planted,  the  privet  hedge 
which  surrounded  it  was  carefully  clipped,  and  the 
flowering  creepers  which  covered  the  front  of  the  house 
were  neatly  trimmed  and  trained. 

Babs  paused  in  the  little  porch  to  recover  her  breath 
before  she  knocked.  There  was  a  light  in  one  of  the 
windows.  There,  in  the  heart  of  the  forest,  the  days 
closed  in  early,  and  doubtless  the  tiny  diamond  panes 
kept  out  even  the  dim  twilight  that  already  reigned 
under  the  trees.  Babs  heard  a  voice  mumbling  monoto- 
nously inside.  The  tone  was  one  of  complaint ;  but  no 
words  reached  her.  Her  heart  began  to  thump  against 
her  side — she  did  not  know  why  ;  but,  lest  her  courage 
should  fail  her,  she  hastily  knocked.  The  voice  mum- 
bled on,  however.  Her  gentle  tap  had  evidently  not 
been  heard  ;  but  she  did  not  knock  again.  She  feared 
she  might  run  away  if  she  were  kept  waiting  a  moment 
longer  in  suspense.  She  therefore  lifted  the  latch  and 
walked  in  ;  and  just  at  that  moment  the  voice  ceased 
speaking,  and  all  was  still. 

The  door  opened  into  a  little  square  passage.  There 
was  another  door  opposite  to  it  and  one  on  either  hand. 
That  on  her  right  was  wide  open,  and  as  she  softly  shut 
the  front  door  she  turned  towards  it.  It  was  the  room  in 
which  she  had  noticed  the  light,  which,  as  she  now  saw, 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

came  from  a  gaudy  oil  lamp  that  stood  on  the  high,  old- 
fashioned  mantel-piece.  She  saw  the  person  whose  voice 
she  had  heard  outside — an  elderly  woman  in  a  cap  with 
flaring  red  ribbons,  who  was  sitting  shuffling  a  pack  of 
cards  at  a  small  table  which  stood  beside  the  fireplace. 
She  saw  a  wood  fire  blazing  on  the  hearth,  and  a  general 
air  of  cottage  comfort ;  she  saw  preparations  for  a  feast 
on  the  well-scoured  dresser  ;  but,  most  of  all,  she  saw  a 
tall  stout  man  standing  negligently  by  the  hearth.  His 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  ground.  In  one  hand  he  held  a 
tumbler  with  some  steaming  liquid  in  it ;  with  the  fingers 
of  the  other  he  kept  up  an  incessant  little  tap-tapping  on 
the  wood-work  against  which  he  leaned.  There  was  no 
mistaking  the  man.  Babs  would  have  recognized  his 
shadow  alone  had  she  seen  it  by  the  dying  daylight — 
Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney,  whom  she  did  not  love. 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  was  known  to  be  a  good,  kind, 
benevolent  gentleman;  the  cottagers  all  about  heaped 
every  adjective  of  the  kind  upon  him ;  and  Babs's  im- 
mediate idea  was  that  he  had  forestalled  her  ;  that 
suffering  humanity  would  owe  its  relief  to  him — the 
wretch  ! — and  not  to  her.  All  her  trouble  had  been  for 
nothing,  then  I  Had  it  been  anybody  but  him  it  would 
not  so  much  have  mattered ;  but  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  1 

Babs  was  seized  upon  by  one  of  those  sudden  revul- 
sions of  feeling  to  which  she  was  subject. 

"  How  dare  you  !"  she  cried. 

The  occupants  of  the  room  started.  They  had  not 
heard  her  enter.  Mr.  Jellybond's  glass  fell  with  a  crash 
on  the  brick  floor.  The  old  woman  jumped  up,  flinging 
the  cards  from  her  wildly,  and  overturning  the  table. 
The  sudden  cry  from  out  of  the  darkness  had  sounded 
with  supernatural  effect,  and  at  the  first  glance  it  was 
easy  to  mistake  the  angelic  face,  framed  in  fair  hair  and 
with  big  eyes  gleaming  angrily,  for  that  of  an  appari- 
tion. The  old  woman  gazed  in  terror  ;  but  Mr.  Jelly- 

176 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

bond  recognized  Babs  at  once.  She  gave  him  no  time 
to  act,  however.  When  she  had  spoken  she  sprang  for- 
ward, swung  the  four  headless,  bleeding  fowls,  and 
flung  them  in  his  face,  then  turned  and  fled  from  the 
spot. 

The  heads  of  the  fowls  struck  him  on  the  cheek,  their 
bodies  encircled  his  neck  in  a  cold,  clammy,  defiling  em- 
brace, which  sent  a  shudder  through  him. 

"  It's  a  bad  omen,"  the  old  woman  gasped,  and  his  own 
fears  confirmed  the  prediction. 

M  177 


CHAP  TER    XIX 

BABS  fled  back  through  the  forest  far  faster  than 
she  had  come.      The  wind  was  with  her  and 
seemed  to  pursue  her,  and  all  about  her  were 
strange  sounds — sighs  and  groans,  and  heavy 
thuds  as  of  inert  bodies  falling  helplessly.     She  had  a 
horrid  vision  of  the  big,  stout  man — an  incongruous 
figure  in  black  frock-coat  and  tall  hat,  with  a  glass  of 
steaming  liquid  in  his  hand — following  hard  after  her 
to  catch  and  drag  her  back  to  Thorne  Lodge  to  be  mur- 
dered by  the  witch  in  red  ribbons  who  was  standing  at 
the  door  waiting  with  the  knife  ready. 

But  as  she  emerged  from  the  dark  pine- wood  the  hob- 
goblins gradually  retired  behind  her,  and  by  the  time 
she  reached  the  high-road,  very  much  out  of  breath,  she 
had  begun  to  cast  about  in  her  own  mind  for  something 
to  comfort  her.  Most  of  all  she  wanted  somebody  to 
talk  to.  She  looked  up  and  down  the  wind-swept  wood 
and  found  the  prospect  dreary.  In  one  direction  there 
was  home,  the  very  thought  of  which  depressed  her  ;  in 
the  other,  far  away,  was  Cadenhouse — far  away  in  every 
sense  of  the  word  ;  but  in  the  same  direction,  near  at 
hand,  was  Ally  Spice.  When  Babs  was  in  a  talkative 
mood  she  was  in  the  habit  of  using  Ally  Spice  as  a  tar- 
get to  talk  at ;  and  now  the  thought  of  Ally  was  reas- 
suring, as  the  commonplaces  of  life  are  reassuring  when 
we  find  ourselves  able  to  attend  to  them  after  moments 
of  difficulty  and  distress. 

Mrs.  Sophia  Pepper  answered  the  door  at  the  Cross 
Roads  Cottage. 

178 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  1  want  to  see  Ally,"  said  Babs.     "  Is  she  at  home?" 
"  Very  much  at  home,"  said  Mrs.  Pepper,  grimly. 
"  But  1  don't  know  if  she'll  be  able  to  see  you." 
"Why?    Is  she  ill?" 
"  She  is." 
"  In  bed  ?" 
"  No  ;    but  it  would  be  better  if  she  was." 

*  What's  the  matter  ?"  said  Babs. 

"A  sort  of  chill,  it  seems,"  Mrs.  Pepper  replied,  "  and 
something  on  her  mind,  I'd  have  said,  if  she'd  had  a 
mind.  But  her  nerves  are  all  wrong,  anyhow." 

*  Is  it  serious,  do  you  think  ?"  said  Babs. 

"  1  can't  say  "  the  old  lady  answered.  "  She's  pretty 
bad,  and  it's  possible  she'll  be  worse.  But  come  in  ;  1 
dare  say  she'll  see  you." 

As  Mrs.  Sophia  Pepper  led  the  way  to  the  drawing- 
room  she  muttered  to  herself,  as  she  had  done  at  inter- 
vals all  that  day  : 

"  1  knew  she  was  sickening  for  something  when  1  saw 
her  antics  last  night." 

Miss  Spice  was  lying  on  the  couch  with  a  shawl  over 
her.  She  turned  a  flushed  and  feverish  face  to  Babs, 
and  held  out  a  hot,  dry  hand. 

"  Leave  us  alone,"  she  said  to  her  aunt,  in  a  tragic 
manner. 

When  Mrs.  Sophia  Pepper  had  withdrawn,  Miss  Spice 
raised  herself  on  her  elbow  and  whispered  : 

*  1  did  it." 

"  Did  what  ?"  said  Babs,  all  at  sea. 

"  1  did  it,"  Miss  Spice  repeated,  "  and  1  made  a  great 
mistake."  A  fit  of  coughing  interrupted  her.  *  But  1 
will  tell  you,"  she  proceeded,  as  soon  as  she  could  speak, 
"  and  then  you  can  judge  for  yourself." 

A  singular  gravity  settled  upon  Babs.  She  had  be- 
gun to  suspect  what  was  coming,  and  found  it  hard  to 
keep  her  countenance. 

179 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

*  When  you  first  made  the  suggestion,"  Miss  Spice 
continued,  "  1  said  1  could  not  do  such  a  thing,  and  I 
went  on  saying  so  to  myself  till  the  last  moment — " 

"  Didn't  you  get  my  letter  ?"  Babs  interrupted. 
"  What  letter  ?" 

*  I  wrote  and  told  you  not  to  do  it  on  any  account." 

*  I  never  got  any  letter  to  that  effect." 

"  1  must  see  to  that,"  said  Babs,  frowning.  "  I  expect 
Mr.  Clodd  Dulditch  can  explain.  Well  ?"  She  settled 
herself  to  hear  the  story. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  it  were  well,"  sighed  Miss  Spice.  "  I  got 
desperate.  I  felt  it  was  my  only  chance.  Look  at  all 
the  women  about  here ;  what  sort  of  lives  do  they  have, 
1  ask  you  ?  1  said  the  thing  could  not  be  done  ;  but  all 
the  time  1  was  seeing  in  myself  if  it  could.  Then  last 
night,  after  1  went  up-stairs,  it  occurred  to  me  to  seek  a 
sign,  and  three  times  the  sign  came  '  No/  The  third 
time  1  said  to  myself, '  That  settles  it !'  and  I  took  off  my 
dress  and  hung  it  up  in  the  cupboard.  Then — all  at 
once — I  don't  know  what  came  over  me — 1  got  out  my 
white  muslin  in  frantic  haste — 1  put  it  on — and  my  blue 
ribbons.  It  was  as  light  as  day  outside.  1  heard  aunt 
snoring.  1  went  down-stairs."  She  paused  for  breath. 

Babs  was  following  the  narrative  with  keen  interest. 
She  had  no  longer  any  inclination  to  laugh. 

"  You  see  it  was  Fate,"  Miss  Spice  continued.  *  When 
1  got  outside  1  felt  conspicuous  in  my  white  dress,  so  1 
returned  for  a  big  shawl." 

"  Returning  is  bad  luck,"  said  Babs. 

"  Yes.  The  moment  1  had  done  it  1  knew  it  was  bad 
luck  ;  but  I  could  not  tell  then  whether  the  bad  luck 
would  be  in  the  going  or  in  the  staying.  But  at  any 
rate  1  went.  1  had  to  go.  When  I  got  to  the  house  I 
took  off  my  shawl  and  left  it  lying  on  a  seat.  There 
was  a  light  in  one  room  up-stairs.  I  felt  sure  he  was 
there.  I  went  and  stood  just  beneath.  1  felt  very 

1 80 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

strange — not  like  myself.  It  was  some  time  before  1 
could  find  voice  to  begin.  But  after  humming  a  few 
notes  under  my  breath,  suddenly  1  felt  impelled  to  send 
up  one  that  was  loud,  clear,  and  melodious  on  the  night 
air.  The  nightingales  were  singing  to  him  ;  should  1 
do  less  than  they  ?  Having  once  begun,  it  was  easy 
enough  to  go  on.  And  oh,  my  dear,  I  sang  like  one 
inspired.  The  very  birds  paused  to  listen.  1  chose  a 
few  words  of  comfort — " 

"  You  did  not  sing  my  serenade,  then  ?" 

"  No,  my  dear.  1  tell  you  1  was  inspired.  I  sang  with 
pathetic  power.  1  never  knew  how  1  could  sing  before. 
All  at  once  the  light  went  out — the  window  was  opened. 
My  heart  stood  still ;  but  1  went  on  singing.  1  heard  his 
step  as  he  crossed  the  veranda."  Here  Miss  Spice  was 
again  interrupted  by  a  fit  of  coughing.  "  Imagine,"  she 
added,  hoarsely — "  imagine — would  you  believe  it  ?" 

*  What  ?"  Babs  gasped. 

"  Before  1  had  time  to  step  back,"  Miss  Spice  proceed- 
ed, with  tragic  emphasis,  "  or  had  any  idea  of  what  was 
coming,  he  emptied  a  tub  of  water  right  down  on  my 
head  !" 

"  Oh  !"  cried  Babs,  and  burst  out  laughing. 

"  You  may  laugh,"  said  Miss  Spice,  "  but  he  did — 
right  down  on  my  head,  and  on  my  muslin  dress,  and 
on  my  blue  ribbons,  and  on  my  ringlets,  and,  what  is 
worse,  he  said,  ' Cats!'  ' 

Babs  stopped  laughing.  There  was  a  ring  of  real 
suffering  in  Miss  Spice's  voice  as  she  pronounced  the 
last  words  that  sobered  her. 

"  Ally,  1  am  sorry,"  she  said.     "  1  blame  myself." 

"  No,  my  dear,"  said  poor  little  Miss  Spice,  "  it  was  not 
you,  it  was  Fate.  If  1  had  not  made  myself  ridiculous 
about  that  man  in  one  way  1  should  have  done  so  in  an- 
other, and  perhaps  a  worse.  But  now  1  know  him.  For 
1  tell  you  1  shall  never,  never,  never  believe  that  he 

181 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

thought  that  1  was — cats.  The  flame  is  quenched  for- 
ever, and  it  may  be  that  1  am  quenched  too." 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that,  Miss  Spice  !" 

"  1  am  very  ill,  Babs,"  said  the  little  woman,  "  and  it 
serves  me  right." 

Babs  rose. 

"  1  shall  always  blame  myself,"  she  said.  "  But  1  won't 
talk  to  you  any  more  now.  You're  exciting  yourself  too 
much.  If  you'll  let  me,  I'll  come  to-morrow  to  see  how 
you  are." 

Miss  Spice  pressed  her  hand  and  let  her  go. 

Babs  was  in  a  state  of  extreme  dissatisfaction  when 
she  left  Miss  Spice.  Everything  had  gone  wrong  with 
her  lately,  and  she  was  almost  ready  to  repent  of  her 
misdeeds — not  because  they  were  misdeeds,  but  because 
they  had  gone  wrong,  which  is  the  commonest  cause  of 
repentance. 

"  1  wonder  what  Cadenhouse  would  do  under  the  cir- 
cumstances," she  said  to  herself  ;  and  instantly  there 
occurred  to  her  a  most  significant  word — "  penance." 

"  I've  never  done  penance,"  she  said ;  and  prepared 
for  an  interesting  experience. 

Babs  sat  down  on  a  bank  to  consider.  What  was 
there  that  she  could  do  by  way  of  penance  ?  Of  course 
she  might  go  straight  to  her  mother  and  confess,  which 
would  be  penance  enough;  but  then  why  should  she 
bother  her  mother  ?  It  was  her  own  business,  not  her 
mother's,  and  she  must  settle  it  herself.  She  looked 
about  her.  The  wind  had  dropped,  but  a  damp  fog  was 
rising,  and  the  day  was  drearier  than  ever.  Babs  had 
walked  a  long  way,  and  her  feet  were  aching.  She 
looked  down  at  them,  and  remembered  that  she  had 
come  out  in  her  house-shoes.  The  shoes  had  suffered 
from  the  roughness  of  the  ground ;  but  what  did  that 
matter  ? — what  did  anything  matter?  Why  should  she 
wear  shoes  at  all  ?  At  the  thought  she  sat  up  straight. 

i8a 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

An  idea  had  come  to  her  ;  and  before  she  could  have 
expressed  it  in  words,  she  had  whipped  off  her  shoes  and 
stockings,  and  was  walking  home  barefooted.  There 
was  little  chance  of  being  seen  in  the  gathering  fog  and 
darkness  ;  but  had  it  been  bright  noonday,  Babs  would 
have  performed  her  penance,  and  only  have  thought  it 
the  more  efficacious  for  any  extra  inconvenience  it  might 
have  caused  her.  As  it  was,  it  was  pretty  severe,  for 
her  feet  were  tender  and  the  road  was  rough.  The  first 
part  of  the  way  was  bad  enough,  but  it  was  the  gravel 
on  the  drive  that  tried  her  most. 

She  slipped  round  the  house  to  a  side  door,  that  she 
might  steal  in  unobserved ;  but  before  she  could  open 
it,  she  was  startled  by  hearing  some  one  call,  softly : 

"  Miss-s-s-s  !" 

Turning,  she  saw  Clodd  peeping  round  the  corner, 
and  gesticulating  in  such  a  way  as  to  excite  surprise  in 
the  breast  of  the  most  guileless  observer  ;  but  he  con- 
ceived himself  to  be  acting  with  great  caution. 

"What's  the  matter,  Clodd?"  said  Babs,  going  up  to 
him,  forgetful  of  the  shoes  and  stockings  which  she  was 
carrying  conspicuously  in  her  hands.  "  What  do  you 
want  ?  You  do  exasperate  me  !  You're  always  mak- 
ing mysteries.  What  do  you  mean  by  it?" 

Clodd  looked  down  at  her  bare  feet  and  grinned. 

"  I'm  not  the  only  one,"  he  remarked. 

"  Don't  be  impudent,"  said  Babs.  "  Which  reminds 
me.  What  did  you  do  with  that  second  letter  1  gave  you 
to  give  to  Miss  Spice  the  day  1  sent  you  with  that  parcel 
of  books  ?" 

Clodd  scratched  his  red  head;  then  he  felt  about  in 
various  pockets  to  gain  time. 

"  Didn't  she  get  it  ?"  he  said,  at  last. 

*  No,  she  did  not,"  said  Babs,  "  and  I'd  like  to  know 
why." 

"  1  wonder,"  said  Clodd. 

183 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

They  stood  looking  at  each  other  in  silence  for  a  per- 
ceptible interval,  then  Babs  gave  it  up.  Her  lightning 
methods  of  mind  were  impotent  against  the  dogged  jog- 
trot of  Clodd's  cart-horse  intellect. 

"  What  do  you  want  now  ?"  she  snapped. 

"  1  come  to  tell  you  1  done  it,"  he  answered,  delib- 
erately. 

"  Done  what  ?"  she  demanded.  "  Everybody  seems 
to  be  doing  something  original." 

"  1  cleaned  up,"  said  Clodd. 

*  Cleaned  up  what  ?" 

"  The  blood,"  he  rejoined  in  an  awful  whisper. 

Babs  went  hot  and  cold.  The  murder  was  out,  then  ! 
What  should  she  do  ? 

"  1  thort  I'd  tell  yew,  miss,"  the  ingenuous  Clodd  pro- 
ceeded, "  because  yew  might  'a'  bin  bothered  when  yew 
thort  on  as  'ow  some  'un  as  oould  'a'  split  on  yew  might 
'a'  gone  an'  foun'  it  an'  'a'  made  en-qui-rees.  I'll  not 
split.  An'  now's  1's  cleared  up,  no  'un  carn't  find  out 
nawthink." 

"  How  do  you  know  I  did  it  ?"  Babs  asked,  incau- 
tiously. 

"  'Cos  I  seed  you,"  said  Clodd. 

Babs's  mind  took  a  moment  to  travel  to  the  bacon- 
room  and  back ;  but  she  could  not  conceive  how  it  had 
been  possible  for  him  to  see  her.  She  gave  that  point  up, 
however — time  pressed. 

"  Is  that  all  ?"  she  said,  impatiently. 

*  I'll  not  split,"  Clodd  repeated. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  rejoined,  haughtily. 

She  turned  to  go  as  she  spoke.  Clodd's  countenance 
fell ;  but  it  brightened  when  Babs  stopped  and  put  her 
hand  into  her  pocket.  It  fell  again  when  Babs  uttered 
an  exclamation  as  if  she  had  lost  something,  and 
brightened  once  more  when  she  seemed  to  find  what  she 
wanted. 

184 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  There,"  she  said,  giving  him  what  appeared  to  be  a 
sixpence. 

Clodd  looked  at  it  suspiciously. 

"  It's  half  a  sovereign/'  said  Babs.  "  If  you  don't 
want  it,  give  it  back  to  me." 

Clodd  hastily  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

"  Thankee,  miss,  I'm  sure,"  he  said,  in  his  best  manner. 
"  If  iver  you  want  to  do  it  agin,  yew  know,"  he  added, 
confidentially,  "  don't  yew  go  fur  to  do  it  yerself,  as  isn't 
proper  for  a  young  lady  like  yew.  Cook  there  wouldn't 
do  it — not  was  it  ever  so ;  nor  I  niver  heerd  tell  o'  one  as 
would — though  preps  it  were  laziness  pervents  'em  more 
nor  del-ee-kay-cie.  Howsumiver,  I  niver  yet  knowed  a 
woman  turn  butcher,  nor  niver  heerd  o'  one  followin' 
that  trade,  neither.  So  I  ses,  miss,  as  I  said  afore  " — 
he  looked  round  cautiously,  then  whispered,  with  his 
hand  to  the  side  of  his  mouth — "  if  iver  you've  a  mind  to 
do  it  agin — " 

"  A  mind  ?"  Babs  ejaculated. 

"  If  iver  you've  a  mind  to  do  it  agin,"  the  imperturbable 
Clodd  repeated,  a  trifle  more  emphatically,  perhaps, 
"  tip  us  a  wink.  Clodd'll  not  split." 

He  seemed  to  think  that  this  put  a  proper  period  to  the 
proceedings,  so  he  touched  his  cap  ceremoniously  when 
he  had  spoken,  scraped  his  foot  back  on  the  gravel  by 
way  of  a  bow,  and  prepared  to  retire. 

Babs  was  gone  in  a  moment.  She  did  not  even  wait  to 
thank  him. 

"  Clodd,"  whispered  a  voice  close  beside  him. 

Clodd  started  and  looked  all  round  in  a  bewildered  way. 

"  Clodd,  I'm  here,  at  the  window,"  the  voice  continued, 
cautiously,  as  if  afraid  of  being  overheard.  "  I  want 
you  to  tell  me  all  about  it." 

It  was  Julia  who  spoke. 

"  Not  me,  miss,"  said  Clodd,  decisively,  going  up  to  the 
window.  "  If  yew'd  'a'  bin  near  enough  to  this  'ere 

185 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

window  fur  yew  to  'ear  all  that  passed  w'en  yew  come 
spyin' — a  listenin'  in  a  way  that's  not  honest  to  wot 
yew'd  no  call  to  'ear — yew'd  'a'  'card  me  say  (an'  say- 
in's  sweerin')  I'll  not  split." 

"  But,  Clodd,  I'd  not  split  if  you  told  me/'  said  Julia, 
persuasively. 

"  It  can't  be  done,"  the  incorruptible  Clodd  firmly 
persisted. 

"  Not  if  I  pay  you  ?"  Julia  asked,  insinuatingly. 

"  What'll  yew  pay  me  ?"  Clodd  demanded,  with  a  rapid 
fall  from  his  incorruptible  manner. 

"  I'll  give  you  half  a  sovereign,"  Julia  replied. 

"  It  can't  be  done  for  that,"  he  declared. 

"  I'll  give  you  two,"  said  Julia. 

Clodd  took  time  to  consider. 

"  Honor  bright  ?"  he  said,  at  last. 

"  Yes,  to-morrow.     I  haven't  them  here." 

"  No,  no,"  Clodd  chuckled.  "  You  pay  right  down  on 
the  nail,  Miss  Julia.  We  all  know  yew're  slippery." 

"  Do  you  doubt  my  word,  sir  ?"  Julia  exclaimed. 

"  I  do,"  said  Clodd. 

"  I  could  get  mamma  to  send  for  you  and  make  you 
tell,  if  I  liked,"  she  threatened. 

"  Yew  can  take  a  'orse  to  the  water,  Miss  Julia,  but 
yew  can't  make  him  drink,"  Clodd  slowly  enunciated. 

Julia  reflected  a  moment,  then  suddenly  changed  her 
tactics. 

"  Wait  here,  Clodd,"  she  said.  "  I'll  go  and  fetch  you 
the  money." 

Clodd  covered  his  large  mouth  with  his  large  hand  to 
smother  an  irrepressible  chuckle.  He  thought  his  way 
of  turning  an  honest  penny  exceedingly  humorous. 

Julia  returned  immediately,  and,  taking  hold  of  his 
hand,  so  that  they  might  not  drop  the  money  between 
them  in  the  dark,  she  deposited  the  two  small  coins  in  it. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  "  tell  me." 

1 86 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  You're  sure  you  won't  split  ?"  he  bargained. 

"  Quite  sure.     Didn't  I  say  so  ?     Do  be  quick." 

"  Well  " — he  paused,  as  though  he  were  still  reluctant 
to  speak — "  this  afternoon  I  seed  Miss  Babs  break  down 
the  gate  'atween  Westbrook  field,  that's  down  i'  w'eat 
this  year,  an'  Farmer  Horner's  sheep-run  ;  an'  she  let 
all  t'  sheep  into  our  w'eat,  an'  they've  most  ruined  it." 

"  Then  what  did  you  mean  by  saying  that  you'd 
cleaned  up  after  her  ?" 

"  Why,  drivin'  'em  out  and  puttin'  up  t'  gate,  to  be 
sure." 

"  Is  that  all  ?"  Julia  exclaimed. 

"  That  is  all,"  Clodd  answered,  doggedly, "  an'  enough, 
too,  for  the  money,  it  seems  ter  me." 

The  first  thing  Clodd  did,  after  lighting  his  fire,  when 
he  got  home  that  evening  (he  had  lived  alone  since  his 
mother  went  as  housekeeper  to  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney) 
was  to  sit  down  and  indulge  in  a  burst  of  hilarity.  He 
felt  that,  upon  the  whole,  the  day  had  been  one  of  the 
pleasantest  he  had  ever  spent. 

When  his  mirth  had  subsided  a  little  he  put  his  hands 
in  his  pockets  and  drew  forth  the  coins. 

"  I  said  I'd  not  split  on  'er,"  he  chuckled. 

At  first  he  looked  at  the  coins  affectionately.  Then, 
as  the  firelight  flickered  on  them,  his  face  became  more 
intent. 

All  at  once  he  knelt  down  and  held  them  close  to  the 
blaze,  and  looked  and  looked  again,  unable  to  believe  his 
eyes. 

At  last  he  exclaimed,  turning  round  as  if  there  were 
some  one  present  to  hear  him,  and  slapping  one  hand 
with  the  other  at  every  note  of  exclamation  : 

"  Well,  desh  it !  Well,  deng  it  !  Wha'd  'a'  thort  it ! 
If  she  'ain't  'a'  bin  an'  gone  an'  done  us  arter  all !  She's 
a  bad  'un,  she  is  !" 

187 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

He  had  discovered  himself  to  be  the  happy  possessor 
of  one  half-sovereign  only,  for  Julia,  under  cover  of  the 
darkness,  had  imposed  two  sixpences  upon  him. 

"  Blast  'er  1"  said  Clodd.     *  I'll  be  even  wi'  'er  yet." 

188 


CHAPTER    XX 

ATER  the  witch  in  red  ribbons  had  uttered  her 
prediction  there  was  a  pause,  during  which 
Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  stood  looking  on  the 
ground  intently.  One  would  have  thought 
that  he  was  doing  mental  arithmetic — and  so  he  was, 
of  a  kind ;  for  he  was  summing  up  the  position  and 
making  a  rapid  calculation  of  the  chances. 

*  What  shall  you  do  T  the  witch  in  red  ribbons  asked 
him  at  last. 

"Act,"  was  the  laconic  rejoinder. 

"  You  was  always  an  actor,  Tinney, "  she  observed, 
admiringly. 

"  1  was  always  a  man  of  action,"  he  rejoined. 

An  hour  later  he  might  have  been  seen  walking  down 
the  village  street  on  his  way  home.  His  step  was  lei- 
surely, as  usual,  his  countenance  serene.  He  had  gone 
to  Thome  Lodge  and  returned  by  the  most  public  way,  so 
that  everybody  might  see  that  he  had  nothing  to  con- 
ceal. He  wore  a  frock-coat  that  day,  and  carried  a  book 
under  his  arm,  which  made  him  look  like  a  minister  of 
religion ;  and  there  was  a  general  expression  of  supreme 
content  about  him  which  helped  the  suggestion.  It  was 
impossible  to  localize  the  expression — it  was  all  over 
him ;  but  perhaps  if  it  were  anywhere  specially  marked 
it  was  in  the  waggle  of  his  coat-tails.  He  seemed  to  be 
humming  a  tune  to  himself  as  he  sauntered  through  the 
village,  bowing  low  to  this  person  and  giving  a  patroniz- 
ing nod  to  that,  his  salutation  being  determined  in  every 

189 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

case  by  the  rank,  age,  or  beauty  of  the  person  saluted. 
The  Japps'  house  looked  onto  the  village  street.  There 
was  a  garden  in  front  of  it,  and  the  tall,  dark,  handsome, 
determined-looking  Florence  was  standing  at  the  gate. 
Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  stopped  to  make  obeisance.  His 
lowest  bow  was  for  beauty  always. 

"  You  make  me  think  of  a  flower,"  he  said. 

"  What  flower  ?'*  she  demanded,  bluntly.  She  had  in- 
herited her  mother's  commanding  manner  and  deep 
voice,  so  that  the  charm  of  her  appearance  was  much 
discounted  when  she  spoke. 

"A  lily." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"A  tiger-lily,"  he  ventured. 

A  softening  of  the  lips  showed  that  she  accepted  the 
comparison.  She  looked  away  from  Mr.  Jellybond 
Tinney  down  the  road.  Her  eyes  were  bright,  her  lips 
were  red,  her  whole  air  animated.  She  was  at  a  perfect 
moment  of  life,  in  high  health,  with  superabundant  vi- 
tality ;  but  there  was  a  pathetic  expression  in  her  eyes, 
an  expression  of  yearning,  of  discontent,  of  reproach, 
which  Mr.  Jellybond  saw  with  sympathy  and  would 
fain  have  banished.  He  understood  her  better  than  she 
understood  herself.  She  suffered  the  ache  of  her  barren 
existence  without  being  able  to  explain  it.  Mr.  Jelly- 
bond  gazed  at  her,  in  serious  enjoyment  of  her  beauty, 
and  sighed.  He  was  perfectly  sincere.  He  hated  to 
see  her  wasting  the  sweetness  of  her  womanhood  in 
vain  vague  longings  for  an  object  in  life. 

"  I  see  you  so  seldom — "  he  was  beginning  ;  but  just 
at  that  moment  Mrs.  Japp  came  waddling  down  the 
path  towards  them.  She  was  a  woman  of  forty-five 
and  well  preserved  but  exceedingly  stout. 

Mr.  Jellybond  turned  his  attention  to  her  at  once. 
He  gave  her  hand  an  affectionate  squeeze. 

"  So  glad  to  see  you,"  he  said — "  so  glad  !  But  I  must 

190 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

hurry  on.     1  shall  remember  this  glimpse  !     Au  revoir, 
dear  ladies." 

He  lifted  his  hat  high  and  hurried  away.  Mrs.  Japp 
was  beaming.  Florence  compressed  her  lips. 

"  You  don't  look  very  amiable,  my  dear,"  her  mother 
remarked,  somewhat  tartly.  "  1  should  like  to  know 
why." 

"  1  should  like  to  know  why  you  seem  so  pleased  about 
nothing." 

"  Oh,  as  to  that — "  said  Mrs.  Japp,  with  an  exasperat- 
ing smile.  "  You  seem  to  think  I'm  quite  old,"  she 
added,  perking,  as  she  led  the  way  down  the  street. 

"1  seem  to  think  it's  my  turn,"  said  Florence,  under 
her  breath,  tragically. 

As  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  walked  up  the  drive  to  his 
own  house  he  looked  about  him  complacently.  The 
place  was  always  picturesque ;  but  now,  in  the  gather- 
ing gloom,  it  was  more  than  usually  so,  and  he  much 
appreciated  its  beauty.  Besides,  it  was  his  own,  a  fact 
which  it  was  always  pleasant  to  remember.  "  Enjoy 
as  you  go  along,"  was  a  maxim  he  practised  habitually. 
Every  moment  we  make  pleasant  for  ourselves  is  some- 
thing added  to  the  good  of  life. 

While  he  was  waiting  for  dinner  Mr.  Jellybond  pluck- 
ed a  flower  from  a  pot  on  the  veranda  and  stuck  it 
jauntily  into  his  buttonhole  ;  and  as  he  did  so,  he 
thought  of  Miss  Spice  the  night  before,  and  was  shaken 
with  silent  mirth. 

"  These  dear  ladies,  how  funny  they  are  !"  he  said  to 
himself.  He  thought  that  Ally  would  be  easy  to  deal 
with,  but  he  was  not  so  sure  about  Babs,  and  he  had  ac- 
cordingly determined  to  settle  with  her  first ;  but  exactly 
how  to  tackle  her  was  the  question.  He  went  up  to  the 
great  mirror  to  seek  inspiration  from  his  own  reflection. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  he  looked  very  nice.  The  addition 
of  the  bright  buttonhole  to  his  perfectly  fitting  dress- 

191 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

suit  was  a  happy  touch.     He  smiled  blandly  at  the  re- 
sponsive mirror  and  felt  reassured. 

*  It  will  be  all  right/'  he  declared  to  himself,  and  then, 
on  a  sudden,  gravely  and  silently,  he  began  to  dance 
with  extraordinary  vigor. 

When  he  had  dined  he  put  on  a  dust-coat  and  went 
to  Dane  Court.  He  opened  the  hall  door  boldly  and 
walked  in.  There  was  nobody  in  the  hall.  Leaving  his 
hat  and  overcoat  on  a  chair,  he  went  up-stairs  and  peeped 
about.  He  knew  the  habits  of  the  family,  and  found, 
as  he  expected,  that  they  were  sitting  in  the  blue  drawing- 
room,  which  they  usually  occupied  when  alone.  Monta- 
cute  and  Julia  were  having  an  altercation.  Mrs.  King- 
constance  requested  them  to  behave  themselves,  and 
Miss  Kingconstance  said  something  inaudible,  but  Babs 
made  no  sign.  Was  she  there  ?  He  ascertained  by  a 
simple  expedient.  He  opened  the  door  noiselessly  and 
looked  in.  No,  she  was  not  there.  Happy  chance  ! 
He  might  perhaps  find  her  alone.  But  he  was  nearly 
caught  before  he  shut  the  door,  for  Miss  Kingconstance, 
whose  senses  were  singularly  acute,  thought  she  heard 
something  fizzle,  and  looked  round.  By  the  time  she 
turned  her  head,  however,  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen. 
Her  momentary  pause  to  listen  had  saved  Mr.  Jellybond. 
He  hoped  to  find  Babs  in  the  school-room,  and  went  to 
see  if  she  were  there.  On  the  way  he  admonished  him- 
self to  be  circumspect. 

Just  at  that  moment,  however,  Bertha  came  running 
down  the  corridor.  He  opened  his  arms  and  caught  her. 

"  Pretty  rosebud  !"  he  said. 

Bertha  giggled. 

"  Let  me  go,  sir  I"  she  cried.  *  There's  somebody  com- 
ing  !" 

"  Give  me  a  kiss,  then,  quick  !"  he  said. 

*  For  shame,  sir  !"  said  Bertha,  still  giggling  and 
wriggling. 

192 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

Suddenly  he  let  her  go.     Some  one  was  coming. 

Bertha  would  have  run  past  him,  but  he  barred  the 
way. 

"  Stand  still,  you  little  idiot !"  he  commanded,  and  in- 
voluntarily she  obeyed  him.  "  Did  you  say,"  he  con- 
tinued, in  his  ordinary,  ponderous  manner,  "  that  Miss 
Lorraine  was  in  the  school-room  ?" 

"  No,  sir — yes,  sir.  She's  been  there  all  day — shut 
up — naughty — for  punishment." 

"  Indeed  !" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

They  both  listened.  All  was  still  again.  The  sound 
of  footsteps  had  died  away.  Mr.  Jellybond  helped  him- 
self to  a  kiss. 

*  For  shame,  sir !"  said  Bertha, "  and  you  a  gentleman!" 

"A  bird  in  the  hand,  my  dear,  is  worth  two — er — in  the 
drawing-room,"  said  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney.  "  But  be 
advised.  Take  care  of  that  head  of  yours,  not  to  lose  it." 

"And  why  not  my  heart  ?"  she  answered,  pertly. 

"  Because  the  little  heart  you  have  doesn't  matter. 
It's  a  light  ommodity,  a  girl's  heart,  a  little  air-balloon 
attached  by  a  string,  so  that  she  can  let  it  go  and  pull  it 
back  again.  The  oftener  she  lets  it  go  the  more  fun 
she  has,  only  she  should  see  to  it  that  the  string  is  fast. 
But  with  the  head  it  is  different.  If  you  lose  your  head, 
it's  the  devil.  Now  take  me  to  the  school-room  and 
announce  me  nicely." 

Babs  was  sitting  in  the  window,  thinking  of  Caden- 
house,  and  longing  for  the  light ;  but  all  was  mist  and 
murk  in  the  direction  of  the  Tower. 

"  Miss  Lorraine,"  said  Bertha,  opening  the  door,  *  Mr. 
Jellybond  Tinney  wishes  to  see  you." 

"  Show  the  brute  in,"  said  Babs,  indifferently,  just 
turning  her  head,  but  not  rising. 

Mr.  Jellybond  entered  the  room  and  bowed  low.    Ber- 
tha retired,  shutting  the  door  after  her. 
N  193 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

Babs  slightly  inclined  her  head,  but  the  expression  of 
her  face  made  the  politeness  ironical. 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  waited  for  her  to  commit  her- 
self ;  she  waited  for  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney. 

"  May  I  take  a  seat  T  he  said,  at  ^st. 

"  As  many  as  you  like/'  she  answered,  shortly,  and 
turned  once  more  to  the  Tower.  There  was  another 
pause,  during  which  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  blinked  con- 
templatively at  Babs  and  did  some  mental  summing  up. 

"  Miss  Babs,"  he  ventured  again,  "  why  do  you  treat 
me  so  badly  ?  have  never  done  you  any  harm,  yet 
you  call  me  a  brute  and  throw  dead  fowls  at  me." 

Babs  burst  out  laughing. 

"  By-the-way,"  she  said,  suddenly  recovering  herself, 
"  what  did  you  do  with  the  fowls  ?" 

"  1  came  to  ask  you  what  you  would  like  me  to  do  with 
them,"  Mr.  Jellybond  was  inspired  to  reply.  "  1  heard 
that  you  are  supposed  to  have  been  here  all  day,  so  1 
have  not  mentioned  your  extraordinary  conduct  this 
afternoon.  1  never  tell  tales." 

"  Good  old  gentleman  !"  said  Babs. 

Mr.  Jellybond  writhed,  but  he  held  his  peace.  He  had 
begun  under  the  impression  that  he  had  Babs  in  his 
power,  and  that  she  would  recognize  the  fact  and  appre- 
ciate his  magnanimity,  but  as  Babs  seemed  to  have 
other  ideas  in  her  head,  he  thought  it  advisable  to  change 
his  tactics. 

"  Of  course,"  he  proceeded,  "  if  upon  reflection  it  ap- 
pears to  me  that  1  ought  to  mention  your  conduct  to  your 
mother — " 

"  You'll  do  so,  however  much  it  may  cost  you  1"  Babs 
put  in.  "1  know  !  And  if  you  do,  won't  there  be  a 
jolly  row  !"  She  turned  towards  him  energetically. 
"  Do  you  know,  1  love  a  good  row, "  she  exclaimed.  "  Let's 
plan  it  !  You  must '  regret  that  it  is  your  painful  duty — ' 
But  how  about  the  witch  with  the  red  ribbons  ?  She 

194 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

must  come  in,  too,  she's  so  picturesque.  Of  course  I 
shall  deny  everything  that  you  assert — that's  part  of 
the  fun.  And  I'll  invent  a  lot  of  things  about  you. 
Oh,  it  will  be  exciting  \" 

Mr.  Jellybond's  jaw  had  gradually  dropped  as  Babs 
rattled  on.  He  gazed  at  her  with  bent  brows  in  great 
perplexity. 

"  You  look  pained,"  she  observed. 

"  1  am,"  he  answered.  "  Your  flippancy  pains  me. 
Your  poor  mother — " 

He  shook  his  head,  and  left  the  rest  to  the  imagina- 
tion. It  was  a  stroke  of  genius.  Babs's  volatility  was 
all  on  the  surface,  and  when  the  depths  below  were 
stirred  it  disappeared  She  had  seen  her  mother's  face 
all  distorted  with  tears  on  one  occasion,  and  every  time 
she  thought  of  it  she  prayed  that  she  might  never,  never 
suffer  that  sight  again. 

Mr.  Jellybond  saw  that  she  was  moved. 

"  Come,  Babs,"  he  said,  kindly,  "  let  us  make  a  bar- 
gain, you  and  1.  Let  us  be  friends.  You  must  feel 
that  you  did  not  do  the  right  thing  this  afternoon." 

"  Well,  1  was  provoked,"  said  Babs,  yielding  that  point. 

"  But,  my  dear  child,  what  had  I  done  to  provoke  you  ?" 

"  You  had  done  everything,"  said  Babs,  "  and  left  me 
nothing  to  do.  I  had  only  those  wretched  fowls  to  take, 
and  you  have  such  a  lot  of  money  you  can  always  be 
helping  poor  people.  I  can  so  seldom  do  anything.  And 
when  Aunt  Lorraine  and  mamma  and  everybody  were 
so  horrid  about  Susannah,  i  would  have  been  some 
comfort  to  me  to  have  helped  her  myself." 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  could  make  nothing  of  all  this. 

"  Susannah  ?  Who  is  Susannah  ?"  he  asked,  in  bewil- 
derment. 

"  Don't  you  know  ?"  said  Babs,  in  turn  surprised. 

"  Never  in  my  life  have  I  known  any  one  of  that 
name.' 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  But  she  lives  at  Thorne  Lodge." 

"  No  one  lives  at  Thorne  Lodge  now  but  the — er — old 
lady  you  saw  there  to-day." 

"  She  used  to  live  there,  then." 

"  Ah,  that  may  be.  Now  I  think  of  it,  when  I  first 
came  here  some  disreputable  people  had  the  place,  but 
were  turned  out  for  not  paying  their  rent." 

"  I  made  a  mistake,  then,"  said  Babs.  "  I  beg  your 
pardon.  I'm  sorry  I  threw  the  fowls  at  you  for  noth- 
ing." 

"  Babs,"  Mr.  Jellybond  said,  solemnly,  rising  as  he 
spoke,  "  I  freely  forgive  you.  And  I  only  ask  one  favor. 
When  you  do  kind  things,  you  keep  it  to  yourself,  I'm 
sure.  So  do  I.  And  I  don't  want  my  visit  to  that  poor 
old  lady  at  Thorne  Lodge  to  be  talked  about." 

*  All  right,"  said  Babs.  "  I'll  not  mention  it.  But  I 
say,  Mr.  Jellybond,  just  tell  me  one  thing  between  our- 
selves, to  satisfy  my  burning  curiosity.  Last  night — 
did  you  really  think  it  was  '  cats  '  ?" 

The  question  passed  through  him  like  an  electric 
shock. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  he  gasped. 

She  grinned.     He  took  a  step  towards  her. 

"  Don't  shake  me  !"  she  exclaimed,  in  mock  alarm. 
"You'll  never  make  me  believe  you  did  think  it  was 
'  cats,'  and  Ally  Spice  doesn't  think  you  did,  either. 
She's  got  a  bad  cold,  and  doesn't  love  you  any  more." 

"  Then  that  was  your  doing  ?"  he  exclaimed.  "  Miss 
Lorraine  Kingconstance,  you're  a  perfect  little  devil, 
and  I  wish  everybody  connected  with  you  joy  of  you." 

"  Thank  you/'  said  Babs. 

It  was  a  happy  home  scene  of  the  most  reassuring 
kind  that  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  looked  in  upon  in  the 
blue  drawing-room  for  the  second  time  that  evening — 
at  least,  so  it  appeared  to  him — and  his  heart  warmed  to 

.  196 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

it.  He  cultivated  all  the  pleasant  emotions.  But  the 
appearance  of  comfort  and  luxury  was  purely  objective 
— a  mere  matter  of  ornamentation,  of  subdued  lights, 
harmonious  coloring,  silken  hangings,  easy -chairs, 
chintz  and  china,  pictures  and  Persian  carpets.  Every- 
thing that  could  be  purchased  to  help  the  effect  was 
there ;  but  of  that  subtle  essence  which  should  have 
flavored  the  whole,  the  essence  of  content — "our  best 
having,"  which  is  not  to  be  bought,  nor  to  be  had  for 
the  asking,  but  must,  be  earned — there  was  none. 

People  talk  glibly  of  sudden  changes,  but  the  proba- 
bility is  that  in  most  cases,  had  they  been  observant, 
they  would  have  had  ample  warning  of  what  was  com- 
ing. Uneasiness  was  in  the  air  at  Dane  Court  that  even- 
ing, and  everybody  felt  it,  but  no  one  rendered  an  ac- 
count of  it  to  themselves  in  order  to  consider  it  in  the 
light  of  a  premonition.  Julia  and  Montacute,  who  were 
seated  at  a  little  table  playing  backgammon,  wer^  put- 
ting more  passion  than  pleasure  into  the  game.  Miss 
Kingconstance  had  tried  to  read,  but  the  rattle  of  the 
dice  and  the  squabbles  of  the  players  distracted  her,  and 
she  put  down  her  book  in  despair.  She  was  sitting  now 
with  her  elbows  on  the  arms  of  her  chair,  her  head  rest- 
ing on  the  cushion  at  the  back,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  ceil- 
ing, and  the  tips  of  her  slender  fingers  met  in  an  arch 
before  her — an  attitude  well  calculated  to  conceal  the  in- 
tense irritation  which  was  working  under  the  deliberate 
calm  of  her  appearance. 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  was  looking  a  trifle  less  placid 
than  usual.  Her  fingers  were  busy  with  her  lace-work, 
and  it  was  apparent  that  her  mind  was  also  busy,  but 
with  something  less  agreeable.  The  truth  was,  she  had 
been  a  little  put  out  at  dinner  because  her  cook  had  sub- 
stituted sauce  Tartare  for  the  sauce  Hollandaise,  which 
she  was  sure  she  had  ordered.  Having  expected  sauce 
Hollandaise  all  day,  and  being  particularly  fond  of  it,  it 

197 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

was  natural  that  she  should  be  put  out  when  sauce  Tar- 
tare,  to  which  she  was  indifferent,  appeared.  Then,  too, 
as  she  glanced  from  time  to  time  at  the  children,  she  be- 
came aware  of  the  fact  that  Julia  had  grown  out  of  her 
frock.  It  was  a  black  velvet  frock  with  a  crimson  sash 
of  soft  silk,  and  had  been  very  becoming  to  Julia  when 
she  first  wore  it.  Then  she  had  been  in  that  ugly  stage 
of  a  girl's  growth  when  the  legs  and  arms  are  too  thin, 
the  hands  too  large,  and  the  feet  too  long,  and  a  short 
frock  was  the  right  thing  for  her  ;  but  now,  on  a  sudden, 
she  seemed  to  have  filled  out,  her  limbs  were  almost  in 
proportion,  and  she  was  certainly  showing  too  much 
good  leg  to  be  quite  nice.  This  observation  caused  Mrs. 
Kingconstance  to  reflect  that  the  girls  were  growing  up  ; 
and  somehow  the  circumstance  made  her  uneasy.  She 
was  only  thirty-eight  herself,  and  looked  even  less  in  the 
evening,  and  she  had  not  had  much  of  a  life,  after  all. 
The  children  had  been  so  sweet,  too,  as  little  things  ; 
what  would  they  be  by-and-by  ?  And  a  young  mother 
with  her  little  ones  about  her  is  always  interesting  ;  but 
a  mother  with  grown-up  daughters  !  What  possibilities 
are  left  in  life  for  her  ?  Mrs.  Kingconstance  began  to 
feel  hurried.  It  was  evident  that  she  must  be  quick  if 
she  would  have  any  more  joy  of  her  youth. 

A  slight  commotion  in  the  air  caused  her  to  look  up. 
Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  stood  in  the  doorway,  gazing  at 
her. 

"  Am  I  disturbing  you  ?"  he  asked. 

*  Pleasantly,"  she  replied,  holding  out  her  hand  to 
him.  He  seemed  to  have  come  in  answer  to  her  thoughts, 
and  she  was  too  startled  to  utter  another  word  ;  but  he 
saw  how  it  was  with  her,  and  sat  down,  feeling  well  sat- 
isfied. • 

The  others  were  equally  pleased  to  see  him,  but  for 
different  reasons.  Relations  between  Julia  and  Mon- 
tacute  were  becoming  strained  to  the  uttermost,  and 

198 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

Julia  was  glad  of  an  excuse  to  put  an  end  to  the  game 
in  dispute  by  adroitly  upsetting  the  little  table  on  which 
they  were  playing  as  she  jumped  up  to  greet  Mr.  Jelly- 
bond.  Julia  liked  him  for  the  nice  things  he  took  oc- 
casion to  say  about  her  dark  eyes,  her  raven  hair,  and 
the  delicate  damask  of  her  cheeks,  when  by  chance  they 
were  alone  together.  Miss  Kingconstance  did  not  like 
him,  but  she  welcomed  him  now  for  the  relief  he  brought 
her  from  the  rattle  of  the  dice. 

"  And  what  has  everybody  been  doing  ?"  said  Mr. 
Jellybond. 

Julia  sat  down  on  the  floor  beside  her  mother  and 
rested  her  head  against  her  knee  caressingly. 

"  We  went  for  a  walk  together,  Montacute  and  I,"  she 
said.  "  It  was  rather  jolly  because  of  the  storm.  We 
nearly  caught  a  young  hare." 

"  We  should  have  caught  it  if  you  hadn't  shrieked, 
'  Oh,  what  a  sweetie-sweetie  !'  just  when  you  should 
have  held  your  tongue/'  said  Montacute. 

"  Of  course  I  can  do  nothing  right  for  you  !"  Julia  re- 
joined, with  a  provoking  smile.  "  If  Babs  had  been 
there  it  would  have  been  different." 

"  Yes,  it  would  have  been  different,"  he  answered, 
dryly. 

"  Poor  Babs  !"  said  Miss  Kingconstance. 

"  Why  '  poor,'  Lorraine,  if  you  please  ?"  said  Mrs. 
Kingconstance  ;  then,  turning  to  Mr.  Jellybond,  "  You 
can  guess  why  she  is  not  here  to-night,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  I  know,"  he  answered,  feelingly.  "  I  heard  when  I 
arrived  that  she  had  been  in  the  school- room  all  day,  and 
I  took  the  liberty  of  going  to  see  her  first,  and — er — 
having  a  little  chat  with  her." 

"  How'  kind  of  you  !"  her  mother  exclaimed. 

Montacute  bridled  visibly. 

"  What  was  the  subject  of  your  improving  conversa- 
tion ?"  he  asked. 

199 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

Mr.  Jellybond,  scenting  an  attack  for  which  he  was 
unprepared,  blinked  hard  in  search  of  a  suitable  reply. 
Miss  Kingconstance  came  to  the  rescue  with  a  remark. 

"  What  good  do  you  suppose  is  done  by  keeping  Babs 
in  all  day  ?"  she  said. 

"  My  dear  Lorraine,  she  must  be  punished,"  Mrs. 
Kingconstance  exclaimed.  "  You  heard  what  she  said. 
She's  always  saying  dreadful  things." 

"  She  doesn't  mean  much — she's  hot-tempered,"  said 
Montacute. 

"  But  why  should  she  be  hot-tempered  ?"  his  mother 
asked.  "I  never  was." 

"  You're  different,  mother,"  he  replied.  "  Babs  has 
queer  notions,  and  she's  always  crossed  when  she  men- 
tions them,  and  that  makes  her  fly  out." 

"  But  why  should  she  have  queer  notions  ?  7  never 
had,"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  expostulated.  "  I  don't  think 
it  at  all  nice  for  a  girl  to  have  queer  notions,  nor  for 
anybody  to  have  queer  notions ;  do  you,  Mr.  Jelly- 
bond  ?" 

"  Certainly  not,"  he  answered,  emphatically,  "  and  I 
think  they  should  be  got  out  of  her  head  somehow,  for 
they  certainly  make  her  quite — er — quite  unbearable." 

"  You  are  criticising  my  sister  somewhat  freely,  are 
you  not,  sir  ?"  sa'd  Montacute,  with  deceptive  evenness. 

For  the  second  time  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  was  taken 
aback. 

Miss  Kingconstance  smiled  approval  at  her  young 
nephew. 

"  1  think  myself  the  shutting-up  is  a  mistake,"  she 
said,  decidedly. 

"  But  what  am  1  to  do  ?"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  helpless- 
ly ejaculated,  looking  at  Mr.  Jellybond. 

But  that  observant  gentleman,  warned  by  a  gleam  in 
Montacute's  eye,  ignored  the  appeal. 

"  Do  you  think  1  ought  to  have  let  her  go  out  this 

200 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

afternoon  ?"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  plaintively  inquired. 
"  It  would  have  been  better  for  her  health,  perhaps." 

"  Don't  worry  yourself  about  Babs,  mamma/'  Julia 
said,  laughing.  "  She  always  manages  to  have  a  good 
time.  You  may  be  sure  she  wouldn't  stay  in  a  moment 
longer  than  she  felt  inclined." 

"  Oh,  but  when  1  tell  her  I"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  ex- 
claimed. "  She  would  never  dare  to  disobey  me." 

"  I  don't  know  about  disobey,"  said  Julia.  "  Babs 
has  a  way  of  forgetting  things  that  she  doesn't  want  to 
remember.  And  1  expect  she  forgot  this  afternoon." 

"  Why  !     Did  she  go  out  this  afternoon  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  and  had  great  fun,Clodd  told  me, "said  Julia, 
casually.  "  She  let  all  Farmer  Horner's  sheep  into  our 
wheat  in  Westbrook  field." 

"  Oh,  how  wicked  of  her  1"  her  mother  cried.  "  She 
really  must  be  punished  for  that,  and  severely  too.  Her 
conduct  is  perfectly  outrageous.  I  must  give  up  trying 
to  manage  her  myself.  She  is  quite  beyond  me.  What 
do  you  think,  Mr.  Jellybond  ?" 

"  1  pass  the  question  on  to  Mr.  Montacute,"  Mr.  Jelly- 
bond  answered,  largely. 

"  1  don't  believe  that  story  about  the  sheep,"  Monta- 
cute  protested. 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Mr.  Jellybond. 

"  Well,  Clodd  told  me,"  said  Julia,  confidently. 

*  1  dare  say  Babs  hasn't  been  out  of  the  school-room  at 
all,"  her  brother  persisted     "  She  was  there  when  1 
went  out,  and  she  was  there  just  before  dinner." 

"  We  might  send  and  see,"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  sug- 
gested. 

*  I  saw  her  come  in,"  Julia  declared. 

"  Oh,  ah,  then  that  settles  the  question  of  her  having 
been  out,"  Mr.  Jellybond  observed,  reflectively.  "  But 
as  to  the  sheep  story,  1  cannot  believe  it.  Miss  Lorraine 
is  not  wilfully  destructive.  Besides,  now  1  come  to 

201 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

think  of  it,  Westbrook  field  is  not  down  in  wheat  this 
year."  He  knew  every  inch  of  the  property.  "  Oh,  dear 
me,  no ;  neither  is  it  next  to  Farmer  Horner's  sheep-run. 
Why,  let  me  see,  it  must  be  quite — yes — quite  three 
fields  away." 

"  So  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance,  much  relieved. 

Julia  turned  crimson. 

"  What  could  Clodd  mean  by  telling  you  such  a  story, 
Julia  ?"  her  mother  said. 

Julia  looked  sulky  and  confused,  but  would  not  an- 
swer. 

"  How  did  you  come  to  be  speaking  to  him  at  all  ?"  her 
aunt  asked  her. 

"  1  heard  him  tell  Babs  he  had  done  something  for 
her,"  she  answered,  "  and  1  asked  him  what  it  was,  and 
that  was  what  he  told  me." 

"  Hoaxed  you,  in  fact,"  said  Montacute. 

"  1  really  must  have  this  cleared  up,"  Mrs.  Kingcon- 
stance exclaimed,  impatiently.  "Go  and  fetch  Babs, 
one  of  you,  and  let  us  ask  her  to  explain." 

"  She'll  tell  the  truth,  at  all  events,"  said  Montacute, 
rising  with  alacrity  to  obey. 

That  was  what  Mr.  Jelly  bond  feared.  In  spite  of  their 
compact  he  could  not  be  sure  of  Babs,  and  if  she  were  to 
come  now  and  tell  the  whole  story  how  would  he  be  able 
to  explain  his  own  reticence  ? 

"  One  moment,  Montacute,"  he  said,  "  before  you  dis- 
turb your  sister — she  was  just  going  to  bed  when  I  left 
her.  Why  should  we  assume  that  she  has  been  in  mis- 
chief because  she  went  out?  I  should  think,  probably, 
she  only  went  to  feed  her  pets — which,  of  course,  she 
would  be  allowed  to  do." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance. 

"  Well,  and  she  met  Clodd,  who  told  her  that  he  had 
fed  them  for  her." 

"  That's  it,  I'm  sure,"  said  Montacute.     "  And  Julia 

202 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

began  to  question  Clodd,  and  it  amused  him  to  hoax 
her." 

"  A  most  disrespectful  thing  to  do/'  Mrs.  Kingcon- 
stance  exclaimed. 

"  He  shall  smart  for  it/'  Julia  vowed. 

"  There  is  an  old  saying  which  seems  to  me  apropos/' 
Mr.  Jellybond  ventured.  "  Ask  no  questions  and  you'll 
have  no — er — difficulties  with  the  servants." 

Miss  Kingconstance  yawned  aggressively 

203 


CHAPTER    XXI 

ON  his  way  home  Mr.  Jellybond  had  to  pass  the 
cottage  in  which  Clodd  Dulditch  lived  alone, 
now  that  his  mother  had  gone  out  to  service 
again.  There  was  a  light  in  the  window,  and 
it  occurred  to  Mr.  Jellybond  that  it  would  not  be  a  bad 
thing  to  go  in  and  have  a  talk  with  Clodd.  Mr.  Jelly- 
bond  thought  it  would  be  just  as  well  to  know  what  had 
been  going  on  that  afternoon,  in  case  of  further  compli- 
cations, and  he  did  not  doubt  but  that  Clodd  could  tell 
him.  He  tapped  sharply  at  the  door. 

"  Who's  there  ?"  was  the  surly  response  from  within. 

"  Open  the  door,  my  good  fellow,"  Mr.  Jellybond  an- 
swered, impressively. 

"  Oh,  it's  you,  sir,  is  it?"  said  Clodd.  "  Come  in  and 
take  a  seat." 

Mr.  Jellybond  held  his  head  up  so  that  he  always 
seemed  to  be  surveying  the  ceiling  when  he  entered  a 
room.  This  attitude  gives  an  easy  air  of  indifference  to 
the  most  calculated  move.  It  was  therefore  without  ap- 
parent intention  that  he  took  the  chair  from  which  Clodd 
had  just  risen,  at  the  little  round  table  by  the  fire,  and 
glanced  casually  at  a  paper  on  which  Clodd  had  been 
making  figures  by  the  light  of  a  tallow  candle. 

The  cottage  consisted  of  three  rooms — the  kitchen  and 
the  two  bedrooms.  The  kitchen  was  panelled,  sides 
and  ceiling,  with  wood  darkened  by  age.  It  looked 
cosey  with  cottage  comfort  in  the  nickering  firelight.  A 
settle  stood  on  one  side  of  the  fireplace.  The  high  man- 

204 , 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

tel-piece  was  ornamented  with  the  family  china,  which 
consisted  of  a  shepherd  and  shepherdess,  two  yellow 
bulldogs  with  blue  spots,  and  a  castle  with  a  lord  on  the 
door-step  and  a  lady  at  the  window.  The  dresser  was 
covered  with  blue  crockery,  polished  tins  shone  on  the 
walls,  and  the  sanded  floor  was  of  the  brightest  brick- 
red,  in  pleasant  contrast  to  the  yellow  hearth.  Every- 
thing was  exceedingly  neat  and  clean,  and  altogether 
there  was  that  well-kept  air  about  the  whole  place  which 
is  usually  associated  with  the  loving  care  of  a  woman. 
But  it  was  Clodd  himself  who  kept  it  so,  and  the  fact 
seemed  to  indicate  that  he  was  not  such  a  lout  as  was 
supposed. 

"  You  have  been  busy,  I  see,"  said  Mr.  Jellybond,  pat- 
ronizingly, "  busy  improving  your  mind  in  a  way  which 
is  extremely  creditable  to  you — extremely  creditable," 
he  repeated,  looking  close  at  the  paper  on  which  Clodd 
appeared  to  have  been  making  calculations. 

Mr.  Jellybond  scanned  the  paper  attentively  for  a 
minute  or  so.  Clodd  seated  himself  on  the  settle  op- 
posite and  scanned  Mr.  Jellybond.  Most  people  would 
have  objected  to  this  inquisition,  but  Clodd  seemed 
rather  to  enjoy  it.  He  watched  Mr.  Jellybond  with  a 
broad  grin  on  his  face  as  that  gentleman  laboriously 
deciphered  some  curious  items,  such  as,  "  Yrly  say  20 
— gents  good  for  a  fiver  apiece  at  least — ladyes  2/6  xept 
No  I  whod  be  sure  to  stan  lots — 2  christmassings — 5 
errans — odd  ones  wen  out  with  traps  and  informa- 
shuns  9." 

Mr.  Jellybond  was  puzzled. 

"  From  what  book  did  you  get  your  propositions  ?" 
he  asked  at  last,  blandly. 

"  I  don't  rightly  know  the  name  o'  the  book,"  said 
Clodd. 

Mr.  Jellybond,  glancing  at  the  paper  again,  seemed 
suddenly  to  comprehend. 

205 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Clodd,"  he  said,  apologetically, 
"  I  see  now.  These  are  private  accounts.  What  a  mis- 
fortune it  is  to  be  near-sighted  1  I  really  thought  you 
had  been  working  a  sum.  Why  did  you  let  me  think 
so?" 

Clodd,  looking  hard  at  him,  continued  to  grin,  but 
said  nothing. 

"  I  see  you're  a  man  of  few  words,  Mr.  Clodd,"  Mr. 
Jellybond  observed,  genially.  "  Well,  you  are  wise, 
for,  as  the  poet  says,  '  Alas  !  we  know  not  what  we  do 
when  we  speak  words/  * 

"  The  man  as  agrees  to  that's  a  fool,"  said  Clodd. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  must  claim  that  distinction,  then." 

"  No,  not  you,"  Clodd  rejoined.  "  Every  one  knows 
that  you're  no  fool.  The  man  as  doesn't  know  what  'is 
words  is  like  to  do's  a  fool — I  ses  it  and  I  sticks  to  it. 
But  that  man  doesn't  call  himself  Jellybond  Tinney." 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  changed  countenance,  but  he 
affected  to  laugh. 

"  Clodd,  I  believe  you're  a  wit,"  he  said,  "  although,  if 
you  are,  your  countenance  does  not  betray  you.  Wit, 
Clodd,  is  a  valuable  possession.  Now  " — this  confi- 
dentially— "  I  don't  mind  telling  you  I  never  was  witty." 

"  Maybe,"  said  Clodd.  "  But  I'll  take  my  dick  you 
allus  had  your  wits  about  you." 

An  uneasy  feeling  began  to  take  possession  of  Mr. 
Jellybond.  There  was  more  than  mere  boorishness  in 
the  assured  familiarity  of  Clodd's  manner ;  upon  what 
was  he  presuming  ?  Mr.  Jellybond  determined  to  get 
to  business  at  once  in  the  hope  of  finding  out  by  the 
way. 

*  It  was  very  good  of  you,"  he  began,  without  further 
circumlocution — "  it  was  very  good  of  you  to  make  all 
smooth  for  Miss  Lorraine  to-day,  Clodd — very  good,  in- 
deed. She  might  have  got  into  serious  trouble,  you 
know,  but  for  you — eh  ?" 

206 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

The  grin  which  had  been  fixed  on  Clodd's  face  from 
the  moment  Mr.  Jellybond  entered  suddenly  vanished, 
and  was  succeeded  by  a  gravely  inquiring  expression. 
His  eyes  opened  unexpectedly  wide,  his  mouth  contract- 
ed, and  Clodd  stood  confessed  by  no  means  such  a  bad- 
looking  fellow  as  people  who  saw  him  only  with  his  ha- 
bitual half-idiotic  smile  on  his  face  were  apt  to  suppose. 
But,  beyond  the  unexpected  change  of  countenance, 
Clodd  made  no  sign,  neither  did  he  say  anything. 

Mr.  Jellybond  waited  a  moment,  then  tried  again. 

"  And  the  fowls,  Clodd,"  he  said,  benignly — "  don't 
you  think  it  was  a  pity  ?" 

"  Which,  sir  ?"  said  Clodd,  recovering  his  grin. 

"  Why—" 

Mr.  Jellybond  hesitated.  If  Clodd  knew  nothing  about 
the  fowls,  he  reflected,  it  would  be  a  mistake  to  tell 
him.  On  the  other  hand,  how  was  Mr.  Jellybond  to 
find  out  what  he  wanted  to  know  without  betraying 
what  he  knew  already  ?  They  might  go  on  fencing 
about  the  subject  for  the  rest  of  the  night  and  get  no  fur- 
ther. Mr.  Jellybond  began  to  feel  provoked.  He  was 
determined,  however,  not  to  be  baffled  by  a  clown  like 
Clodd. 

"  I  came  to  ask  you,"  he  said,  speaking  authorita- 
tively, "what  you  meant  by  the  lie  you  told  Miss  Julia 
this  evening  ?" 

"  Whew-w-w  1"  whistled  Clodd,  more  at  his  ease  than 
ever.  "  So  that's  your  little  game,  is  it  ?  I  thought 
you  were  up  to  somethin'.  I  know'd  as  yer  'fectionate 
interest  in  us  was  too  sweet  ter  be  wholesome.  Well, 
you'll  not  get  nothin'  out  o'  me,  you  may  take  yer  dick 
o'  that." 

"  How  dare  you  speak  to  me  like  that,  sir  ?"  Mr.  Jelly- 
bond  exclaimed,  rising  wrathfully. 

"  'Ow  dare  you  come  a-pumpin'  o'  me,  sir  ?"  Clodd  re- 
joined, mimicking  his  tone  impudently. 

207 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Look  here  now,  Clodd,"  Mr.  Jellybond  said,  after  a 
moment's  reflection,  "  it's  no  good  losing  your  temper." 

*  Never  felt  less  like  it  i'  my  life,  sir,"  said  Clodd,  with 
a  grin  which  fully  corroborated  the  statement. 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  Mr.  Jellybond  re- 
turned to  his  grand  manner. 

"  1  had  better  tell  you  at  once,"  he  said,  slowly,  "  that 
I  have  come  to  obtain  a  full  explanation  from  you  of 
what  happened  this  afternoon." 

"  I'll  be  hanged  if  I'll  split  on  Miss  Babs,"  Clodd  an- 
swered, doggedly. 

"  You  are  quite  right,  my  good  fellow,"  Mr.  Jellybond 
blandly  assured  him.  "  Loyalty  is  the  most  noble  of 
qualities.  Never  betray  a  friend  ;  but  draw  a  distinction 
between  friends  and  enemies.  Now  1  am  a  friend  of 
Miss  Lorraine's,  and  1  come  to  question  for  myself,  be- 
cause 1  am  just  as  anxious  to  save  her  from  getting 
into  trouble  as  you  are.  If  you  will  tell  me  the  exact 
truth,  then  1  shall  know  how  much  of  it  should  be  used 
to  screen  the  young  lady.  Everybody  knows  she  was 
up  to  something  this  afternoon,  and,"  he  added,  confi- 
dentially, "  1  know  pretty  well  what ;  so  if  you  want  to 
save  her  you  had  better  be  honest  with  me." 

Clodd  stroked  his  chin  and  stared  at  Mr.  Jellybond 
thoughtfully. 

"An'  why  shouldn't  I  tell  jest  what's  enough  myself  ?" 
he  said,  at  last.  "  They  say  as  three  can't  keep  a  secret." 

*  Now  look  here,  Mr.  Clodd,"  Mr.  Jellybond  said,  stern- 
ly, "  I'll  have  no  nonsense.    I'll  give  you  gold  if  you  tell 
me  the  truth,  and  I'll  give  you  a  licking  if  you  don't." 

"  Will  yew,  sir  ?"  said  Clodd,  defiantly.  "An'  if  ye  gie 
me  a  lickin',  I'll  hev  yew  up  fur  assault,  an'  if  yew  kill 
me,  yew'll  swing  fur  it — an'  'ow'll  that  be  fur  yer 
schemes  ?" 

"  Who'd  take  your  word  against  mine,  I'd  like  to  know, 
you  lout?" 

208 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  There's  plenty  as  'ud  think  ill  o'  yew  wi'  pleasure," 
said  Clodd  ;  "  an'  yew  might  as  well  'ang  a  dog  at  once 
as  give  'im  a  bad  name,  yew  may  'ave  'eard.  You're 
mighty  clever,  Mr.  Jellybond,  but  I'm  a  match  fur  yew. 
Yew  likes  to  worm  yerself  into  folks'  affairs,  but  I'm 
deshed  if  yew  gets  a  'old  ower  Miss  Lorraine  through 
me.  I'll  not  tell  nothin',  an'  wot's  more,"  he  added, 
edging  up  to  Mr.  Jellybond  with  both  fists  clinched, 
"  yew'll  pay  me  to  'old  my  tongue  before  yew  leave  this 
'ouse." 

"  You'll  lose  your  place  for  this  !"  said  Mr.  Jellybond, 
wrathfully. 

"An'  if  I  do,  I  can  get  another,"  said  Clodd  ;  "  but  if 
1  do,  yew'll  lose  yer  repetation,  and  yew'll  not  get  an- 
other." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  Mr.  Jellybond  demanded. 

"Jest  what  I  ses,"  rejoined  Clodd,  and  added  some- 
thing in  an  undertone  which  caused  Mr.  Jellybond's 
dignity  to  collapse  visibly. 

"  But  where  are  your  proofs  ?"  he  asked,  in  an  altered 
voice. 

"  My  proofs  are  wot  yew  call  livin'  witnesses,"  said 
Clodd — "Jim  Townly,  Jessie  Horner,  and  old  Patty 
Groves.  They  was  all  in  t'  next  parish  less  nor  a  'un- 
dred  years  ago." 

"  Where  are  they  now  ?" 

"  Lunnon.  They  doesn't  know  where  yew  are,  though, 
an'  they  won't  unless  1  split.  Now  I  don't  want  to  split, 
cause  1  likes  to  turn  a  honest  penny,  an'  so,  if  you'll 
do  summat  fur  me,  I'll  do  summat  fur  yew." 

"  Blackmail,  eh  ?"  said  Mr.  Jellybond. 

Clodd  blinked  at  him. 

"  1  don't  know  about  that,"  he  said  ;  "  but  it's  ten  pun 

to-night,  an'  a  rekermendation  to  learn  the  business  o' 

footman  i'  the  missus's  establishment  to-morrow.     1's 

yer  'ousekeeper's  only  son,  yew  know,"  Clodd  added,  with 

o  209 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

a  wink,  "  an'  she's  a  'onest  woman,  an'  I'm  a  tolerable 
lad — a  bit  rough  now,  maybe,  but  the  kind  o'  stone  as  '11 
take  a  polish." 

"  Does  she  know  ?"  Mr.  Jellybond  asked. 

"Who?  Mother?  Not  she!  She  wouldn't  keep  it  to 
'erself  if  she  knowed.  Mother's  a  bad  business  woman." 

"  And  if  1  pay  you  and  give  you  the  recommendation," 
Jellybond  bargained,  "  will  you  hold  your  tongue  ?" 

"  Yes.  I'll  swear  to  that  so  long  as  yer  civil  to  me. 
But  I'll  stan'  no  puttin'  upon,  so  1  gives  yew  fair  warn- 
in'." 

Mr.  Jellybond  put  the  two  five-pound  notes  down  on 
the  table,  but  kept  his  hand  on  them. 

"  It  is  a  bargain,  then,"  he  said.  "  You  will  not  trouble 
me  for  more  ?" 

"  Done  with  yew  upon  oath,"  Clodd  replied,  stretching 
his  hand  out  for  the  money. 

"  Oh,  by-the-by,  one  thing  more.  You  can  tell  me 
this,"  Mr.  Jellybond  exclaimed  :  "  Does  Miss  Lorraine 
know  anything  ?" 

"  That's  not  included,"  said  CJodd,  astutely.  "  I'll  tell 
you  that  for  another  sovereign/* 

Mr.  Jellybond  put  the  money  down  on  the  table  with 
a  clink. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  irritably,  "  what  does  she  know  ?" 

Clodd  snatched  the  money  and  pocketed  it. 

"  She  doan't  know  nothing"  he  said,  deliberately,  "  an' 
wot's  more,  she  don't  suspect  nothin',  else  she'd  find 
out  soon  enough,  fur  she's  a  sharp  "un,"  he  added,  ad- 
miringly ;  "  an*  that's  the  truth  fur  yew,  sir." 

Mr.  Jellybond  crushed  his  hat  down  on  his  head  but 
said  nothing  Clodd  opened  the  door  for  him  respect- 
fully and  wished  him  a  pleasant  walk  home. 

Mr.  Jellybond  departed  with  at  least  one  doubt  re- 
solved. It  was  evident  that  Clodd  the  wary  was  by  no 
means  the  fool  he  chose  to  appear. 

210 


CHAPTER    XXII 

THERE  is  this  about  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  which 
it  is  always  pleasant  to  contemplate  —  he  did 
enjoy  himself.  "  Enjoy  as  you  go  along,"  he 
was  continually  saying  :  "  enjoy  the  little 
things."  The  worst  of  it  was  that  in  his  own  case  the 
little  things  were  beginning  to  absorb  his  attention  to 
the  exclusion  of  all  else.  So  far  he  had  been  an  emi- 
nently successful  man,  just  because  he  had  kept  his 
main  object  always  in  view  and  allowed  no  minor  mat- 
ters to  interest  him  for  more  than  a  moment.  Now  all 
his  interests  were  in  minor  matters,  and  the  great  pur- 
pose which  had  brought  him  to  Danehurst,  the  finishing 
touch  which  he  had  intended  to  put  to  his  career  to 
crown  it,  was  being  insensibly  postponed.  His  purpose 
had  been  to  marry  and  to  go  into  Parliament  ;  and  that 
was  his  purpose  still  ;  but  he  no  longer  pursued  it  stead- 
ily. At  first  he  had  thought  to  carry  it  out  with  as  lit- 
tle delay  as  possible,  as  had  been  his  habit  with  other 
purposes  of  his  life ;  now  he  was  beginning  to  think  that 
"  some  day  "  would  be  soon  enough.  He  was  becoming 
more  like  the  only  half-successful  man  who  starts  in 
life  well  equipped,  but  discounts  his  chances  by  expend- 
ing his  energy  on  many  things  because  he  finds  he  can 
do  them  well,  instead  of  concentrating  all  his  strength 
upon  the  one  which  he  would,  in  that  case,  have  done 
to  perfection.  It  was  not  the  things  to  which  he  had 
been  accustomed  all  his  life  that  betrayed  him  ;  it  was 
his  new  experiences — the  society  of  ladies,  for  one  thing. 

2IT 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

He  was  becoming  more  accustomed  to  it  now  ;  but  at 
first  it  had  intoxicated  him  to  be  with  gentlewomen  ;  and 
he  had  not  been  able  to  settle  down  steadily  to  the  pur- 
suit of  one  for  desire  of  them  all.  Then  there  was  nov- 
el-reading. He  had  read  a  novel  for  the  first  time  after 
he  came  to  Danehurst,  and  had  found  it  so  entrancing 
that  soon  his  days  began  and  ended  with  a  novel,  al- 
though there  were  more  serious  studies  which  it  was 
urgently  necessary  that  he  should  pursue  if  he  would 
succeed. 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  had  no  worries,  for  the  very 
simple  reason  that  he  would  not  worry  himself.  He  let 
nothing  disturb  him  for  more  than  a  moment.  That 
Clodd  should  know  whence  he  came  had  been  a  shock  ; 
but  he  had  recovered  himself  before  he  reached  home. 
Clodd  had  so  evidently  an  eye  to  his  own  interests,  and 
they  would  be  served  so  much  the  best  by  holding  his 
tongue,  that  Mr.  Jellybond  saw  no  danger  from  that 
quarter.  On  the  contrary,  Clodd  might  be  made  useful 
now  in  a  way  that  would  have  been  impossible  had  he 
not  been  guilty  of  blackmailing.  Mr.  Jellybond,  there- 
fore, dismissed  him  from  his  mind  when  he  reached 
home,  lit  a  cigar,  poured  himself  out  a  bumper  of  bur- 
gundy, stretched  himself  on  a  couch,  and  took  up  his 
book.  It  was  Vanity  Fair,  and  when  he  had  read 
some  time  he  reflected  :  "  It's  really  best  to  be  quite 
straight — the  straighter  the  better  ;  that's  always  been 
my  principle,  and  if  it  hasn't  always  been  my  practice, 
Fate  was  at  fault." 

The  sunny  morning  found  him  alert  and  cheery,  with 
his  mind  intent  upon  a  host  of  what  he  called  "  little 
duties  " — enough  to  fill  up  his  day.  There  was  Miss 
Spice,  to  begin  with.  Mr.  Jellybond  had  dismissed 
from  his  mind  all  knowledge  of  the  serenade.  All  he 
knew  now  was  that  he  had  heard  that  Miss  Spice  was  ill, 
and  he  was  going,  as  was  right  and  proper,  to  ask  after 

212 


BARS      THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

her.  He  went  with  a  book  under  his  arm,  and  a  basket 
of  good  things,  carefully  covered  with  flowers,  in  his 
hand.  Poor  little  Ally  Spice  !  He  was  really  quite  con- 
cerned about  her. 

Miss  Spice  was  down  in  the  drawing-room  that  morn- 
ing, lying  on  the  couch.  Fanny  Sturdy  and  Florence 
Japp  had  dropped  in  casually  to  see  how  she  was.  They 
were  both  curious  to  know  what  had  upset  her.  Some- 
thing had  been  said  about  a  shock  to  the  system  ;  but 
what  shock  to  the  system  was  possible  in  her  way  of 
life  ?  They  associated  shocks  to  the  system  with  im- 
portant people. 

"  I  am  sure  I  wish  I  could  have  a  shock  to  my  system," 
said  Florence  Japp,  with  a  discontented  frown,  "  or  any- 
thing else  for  a  change." 

She  took  her  lot  in  life  tragically  ;  Fanny  Sturdy  was 
dreamy  and  apathetic. 

"Ah,  little  you  know!"  said  Miss  Spice — "little  you 
know  !  7  used  to  think  that  a  change  would  be  for  the 
better,  especially  a  change  of  ideas  ;  but  now — now  " — 
she  shook  her  head  expressively  and  sighed — "  now  I 
would  give  the  world  to  go  back  to  the  days  when  1 
thought  sc." 

"  But  what  happened  to  you,  Ally  ?"  Florence  asked. 

"  That  no  one  will  ever  know,"  said  Miss  Spice.  "All 
I  can  say  is  that  I  dreamt  a  dream,  and  I  had  a  rude 
awakening.  Life  will  never  be  the  same  to  me  any 
more.  It  is  not  that  my  hopes  were  vain — that  would 
not  have  pained  me  so  much.  It  is  the  shattering  of  my 
ideal  which  has  overwhelmed  me." 

"  Something  gone  wrong  in  London,  I  suppose,"  said 
Florence  Japp,  after  casting  about  in  her  mind  vainly 
for  somebody  in  Danehurst  who  was  likely  to  have  been 
Miss  Spice's  ideal.  "  You  have  a  lot  of  friends  in  Lon- 
don, haven't  you  ?  I  wish  I  had.  1  should  like  to  live 
in  London  and  see  the  shops  every  day.  There's  al- 

213 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

ways  something  to  do  there  —  something  to  look  for- 
ward to." 

"Ah  !"  said  Fanny  Sturdy,  "  one  would  have  a  chance 
there  ;  one  would  feel  alive." 

They  sat  in  silence  for  some  time,  all  three  with  their 
eyes  fixed  on  the  long  road  that  ran  south — the  long, 
straight  road  by  which  no  one  interesting  ever  came. 
Fanny  Sturdy  was  sitting  near  the  window,  so  that  she 
could  see  down  the  road  to  the  right  as  well — the  road 
that  led  to  the  village. 

"  Here's  Mr.  Jellybond,"  she  said,  presently,  in  an  in- 
different tone. 

Florence  Japp's  eyes  dilated ;  Miss  Spice  became  rigid. 

"  Not  coming  here  ?"  she  managed  to  articulate. 

But  even  as  she  spoke,  the  big,  bland  man  with  the 
unsmiling  mouth  stopped  at  the  little  gate. 

"  I'll  let  him  in,"  said  Florence  Japp,  jumping  up  ex- 
citedly and  going  out  into  the  hall.  She  shut  the  door 
carefully  after  her,  so  that  nothing  but  a  murmur  of 
voices  could  be  heard  in  the  drawing-room.  After  a 
considerable  delay  she  returned,  looking  radiant. 

"  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  !"  she  announced,  playfully. 

Miss  Spice  was  paralyzed. 

He  came  in  as  on  any  ordinary  occasion,  carrying 
the  book  and  the  basket. 

"  How  are  you,  Miss  Fanny  ?"  he  said,  by-the-way, 
"And  our  dear  Miss  Ally  ?  Really  poorly,  I  see.  Well, 
so  1  was  told  ;  but  1  hoped — 1  hoped  the  bearer  of  the  bad 
news  exaggerated.  However,  1  hurried  here  at  once,  as 
soon  as  1  heard,  to  ascertain  the  truth  for  myself,  and  1 
ventured  to  bring  this  basket,  with  a  few  flowers  and  a 
book.  For  1  thought  if  perchance  1  found  you  alone — 
which  was  not  likely,  for  Danehurst  knows  that  good 
people  are  scarce  and  looks  after  them — eh,  Miss  Flor- 
ence ? — 1  brought  the  book,  thinking  you  might  like  me 
to  read  to  you,  if  you  were  disinclined  to  talk." 

214 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

He  had  taken  Miss  Spice's  hot  little  hand  and  held  it 
in  his  while  he  was  speaking.  He  knew  the  effect  of  his 
firm,  cool  touch  upon  her,  and  watched  it  working.  In- 
dignation and  anger  were  in  her  face  when  he  entered, 
but  were  fast  succeeded  by  dumb  reproach,  then  by  un- 
certainty. Could  she  have  been  mistaken  ?  She  must 
have  been  mistaken.  He  did  think  it  was  "cats."  It 
was  evident  that  he  had  not  even  suspected  her. 

Miss  Spice  experienced  a  delicious  revulsion  of  feeling. 
Had  they  been  alone  together  she  must  have  thrown 
herself  into  the  dear  man's  arms  ;  as  it  was,  her  pent-up 
emotion  found  vent  in  tears.  Mr.  Jelly  bond  saw  them 
coming,  and  skilfully  placed  himself  between  her  and 
the  other  ladies,  so  that  she  was  able  to  wipe  her  eyes  un- 
observed. When  she  had  sufficiently  recovered  herself 
he  proceeded  to  make  the  conversation  general. 

"And  how  does  the  work  prosper,  Miss  Fanny  ?"  he 
asked.  "  I  always  wish  we  men  could  do  fancy-work  ! 
It  must  be  such  a  solace  to  see  those  lovely  things  shape 
themselves  under  your  skilful  fingers  !" 

"  When  one  hasn't  too  much  of  it,"  Fanny  sighed. 

"  But  what's  the  good  of  those  things  when  they're 
done  ?"  said  Florence.  "  I  can't  be  bothered  with  such 
useless  work." 

"  Oh,  not  useless  1"  he  remonstrated.  "  Nothing  that 
beautifies  life  can  be  called  useless." 

"  May  I  give — will  you  accept — that  chair-back  when 
it  is  finished  ?"  Fanny  Sturdy  stammered,  diffidently. 

"  You  are  too  kind,"  Mr.  Jellybond  exclaimed.  "  Is 
she  not,  Miss  Ally  ?" 

Miss  Spice,  from  her  sofa,  smiled  on  them  all  impar- 
tially ;  but,  oh  !  how  she  did  wish  that  her  dear  lady 
friends  would  go  and  leave  him  to  her.  Fortunately 
for  her  comfort,  however,  she  supposed  that  that  also 
was  his  desire.  Not  the  shadow  of  a  doubt  of  the  dear 
man  remained  in  her  innocent  bosom. 

215 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

*  It  is  such  a  lovely  morning/'  Mr.  Jellybond  remarked, 
"  you  ought  really  to  have  your  windows  wide  open. 
Will  you  allow  me  ?  There  will  be  no  draught.  It  is 
draughts  that  are  dangerous." 

He  opened  the  window  wide,  and  little  Miss  Spice 
heaved  a  deep  sigh  of  satisfaction  as  the  sweet  air  flood- 
ed the  room. 

"  Does  that  long  road  to  the  south  make  you  think  of 
anything,  Miss  Florence  ?"  Mr.  Jellybond  asked. 

Florence  looked  vaguety  down  the  road  and  then  in- 
quiringly at  Mr.  Jellybond.  He  tapped  the  book  he  had 
brought  with  him. 

"  It  is  here — I  read  it  only  this  morning,"  he  said. 
"  Tennyson,  you  know — '  Fatima ' : 

"'I  look'd  athwart  the  burning  drouth 
Of  that  long  desert  to  the  south.'" 

All  eyes  were  directed  towards  the  window,  and  seri- 
ousness settled  upon  them,  as  if  something  sacred  had 
been  said. 

"  Tennyson  is  a  revelation  to  me,"  he  ejaculated. 
"  But  I  perceive  a  difference  between  you  three  young 
ladies  and — er — Fatima.  Her  knight — er — had  come 
and  gone  apparently ;  but  yours  is  still  to  come !  Lucky 
girls,  with  life  before  you  !  Make  the  most  of  it.  A 
bird  in  the  hand — er — sings  better  than  two  in  the  bush." 

"  How  do  you  explain  that  ?"  said  Miss  Spice,  always 
ready  to  be  instructed. 

"  Well — er — in  the  usual  way,"  he  answered.  "  It  is 
the  things  we  have  not  got  which  hold  out  to  us  all  the 
promise  of  pleasure  in  life,  so  we  imagine  ;  but  that  is 
the  mistake  we  make.  Life,  when  we  view  it  aright,  is 
all  pleasure  and  all  promise  and  all  present  interest. 
Just  consider  how  strange  it  is.  What  odd  things  hap- 
pen !  And  how  odd  the  things  are  that  do  not  happen  ! 
Have  you  ever  reflected  upon  that  ?  Just  think,  for  in- 

216 


BARS      THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

stance,  how  seldom  any  one  ever  falls  out  of  bed.  Now 
there  is  a  bed,  a  certain  height  from  the  ground,  with 
unprotected  sides — except  in  the  case  of  infants — and 
absolutely  nothing  to  keep  us  from  falling  out  every 
night  of  our  lives ;  yet  just  think  how  seldom  that  acci- 
dent happens;!  Why  do  we  not  fall  out  of  bed  ?  That 
is  the  question — why  do  we  not  find  ourselves  sitting 
on  the  floor  every  night  of  our  lives  ?  What  law  pre- 
vents it  ?  Oh  yes,  life  is  full  of  such  problems — full  of 
fresh  interests — if  only  we  tried  to  find  them." 

Mr.  Worringham  came  in  at  the  gate  at  that  moment, 
and  seeing  Florence  Japp  at  the  window,  addressed  her. 

"  I  hear  Miss  Ally  has  been  ill,"  he  said ;  "  but  I  hope 
it  is  not  true." 

"  Miss  Ally  is  on  the  mend,"  Mr.  Jellybond  responded 
for  her  with  elephantine  playfulness.  "  Come  in  and 
help  the  cure." 

"  I  am  sorry  I  cannot  come  in,  thank  you,"  Mr.  Wor- 
ringham answered,  coming  up  to  the  window.  "  I  am 
on  my  way  to  lunch  at  Dane  Court." 

"  If  you  will  wait  a  moment,"  said  Mr.  Jellybond,  "  I 
will  accompany  you.  I  have  to  see  Mrs.  Kingconstance 
on — er — a  matter  of  business.  Ladies,  I  must  leave  you 
to  extract  the  moral  of  the  moment." 

"  I  see  no  moral  in  the  moment,"  said  Florence  Japp, 
bitterly.  She  was  suspicious  of  this  business  with  Mrs. 
Kingconstance. 

"  You  can  extract  a  moral  from  everything,  dear  young 
lady,"  Mr.  Jellybond  assured  her  in  didactic  measure, 
"  as  you  can  extract  the  sting  from  a  bee — er — by  adding 
something  to  the  end  of  it."  He  blinked  several  times 
after  this  pronouncement.  "But  avoid  the  obvious — 
look  always  for  the  out-of-the-way,"  he  added.  "  Eh, 
Mr.  Worringham,  don't  you  agree  ?" 

"  Er — no,  I  do  not,"  said  the  gentle  vicar.  "  I  say  give 
us  the  familiar,  the  reposeful  commonplace,  the  obvious, 

217 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

to  inspire  in  us  that  sense  of  security  upon  which  our 
peace  depends." 

"  How  nice  it  is  to  hear  you  talking  !"  said  Fannjr 
Sturdy,  admiringly.  "  1  wish  1  could  always  live  with 
superior  people." 

"  Superior  people  !"  Mr.  Jelly  bond  ejaculated.  "  My 
dear  young  lady,  1  assure  you  that  nobody  is  better  than 
anybody,  and  everything  is  all  the  same.  Miss  Ally, 
reflect  upon  that.  Nobody  is  better  than  anybody,  and 
everything  is  all  the  same." 

The  two  gentlemen  walked  on  together  awhile  in  si- 
lence. Mr.  Jellybond  was  smiling  to  himself,  as  at  some 
happy  reminiscence.  Mr.  Worringham  seemed  to  be 
cogitating. 

They  presented  a  singular  contrast — the  gentle,  as- 
cetic-looking vicar,  well  born,  well  bred,  with  self-denial 
evident  in  his  countenance  and  stamped  upon  his  shab- 
by clothes,  and  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney,  the  successful 
man  of  no  breeding  but  some  acquired  taste,  well  fed, 
well  dressed,  capable,  affluent — a  man  of  mark,  to  judge 
by  his  assurance,  in  some  walk  of  life  or  other.  But 
they  were  excellent  friends.  The  vicar  believed  in  Mr. 
Jellybond  Tinney ;  he  felt  the  power  of  the  man  and 
admired  him,  and  such  eccentricities  as  he  observed  in 
Mr.  Jellybond's  manner  or  conversation  he  set  down  to 
something  in  the  nature  of  a  sense  of  humor  with  which 
he  himself  had  not  been  endowed.  Mr.  Jellybond  had 
often  made  him  laugh  on  quite  unseemly  subjects,  but 
in  such  a  natural  way  that  Mr.  Worringham  would  have 
felt  it  hypercritical,  if  not  uncharitable,  to  have  objected. 
For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  was  treated  like  a  man 
of  the  world,  and  found  in  the  position  much  pleasant 
diversion. 

"  You  seem  to  have  a  cheering  effect  upon  all  my  fe- 
male parishioners/'  he  said,  at  last. 

"  Well,  1  hope  1  have,  rather,"  Mr.  Jellybond  answered, 

218 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

modestly.  "  1  sympathize  with  them  so  !  Just  think 
what  their  lives  are  !  What  have  they  to  look  forward 
to  ?  Scarcely  a  woman  in  the  parish  has  a  chance  of 
ever  having  a  husband  and  a  home  of  her  own — and  as 
to  a  career — "  He  spread  out  his  hands  at  the  impossi- 
bility. 

"  Is  that  why  you  flirt  with  them  all  impartially  1" 
said  the  vicar,  slyly. 

"  I  ?  Flirt  ?  Oh,  come  now  !  Well,  perhaps  1  do  a 
little — once  in  a  way.  It  is  only  kind  ;  it  does  them 
good.  It  means  so  much  to  them,  you  see,  poor  dears — 
takes  them  out  of  themselves — gives  them  a  little  fillip, 
don't  you  know." 

"  Besides  being  an  innocent  pleasure  to  you,  eh  ?" 

"  Well— er— what  shall  1  say  ?" 

Mr.  Jelly  bond  stepped  out  buoyantly ;  the  vicar  also 
showed  signs  of  exhilaration.  He  had  become  almost 
playful  himself  since  Mr.  Jellybond  came  into  his  life, 
and  was  in  consequence  amiably  disposed  towards  all 
the  diversions  of  that  gentleman. 

219 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

AS  the  gentlemen  approached  Dane  Court,  Mr. 
/\  Jellybond  Tinney  became  preoccupied.  He 
•*  »•  glanced  about  him  alertly,  as  was  his  wont, 
especially  after  they  entered  the  drive  ;  but  his 
mind  was  not  intent  upon  the  affluence  made  visible  in 
the  excellent  order  of  the  place,  nor  upon  the  heavy  sum- 
mer foliage  of  the  giant  trees,  although  he  looked  up  at 
it  as  they  passed  beneath,  nor  upon  the  white  clouds 
which  floated  across  the  brilliant  blue,  nor  upon  the  birds 
that  skimmed  across  his  field  of  vision.  He  was  think- 
ing seriously  of  another  matter. 

"  Has  it  ever  been  considered  likely,"  he  said,  at  last, 
u  that  Mrs.  Kingconstance  would  marry  again  ?" 

"  1 — er — really  cannot  say,"  Mr.  Worringham  answered. 
"  It  had  not  occurred  to  me,  personally,  that  she  might." 

"  That  is  strange, ""said  Mr.  Jellybond.  "  The  widow 
is  comely." 

"  But — er,"  Mr.  Worringham  objected,  "  there  are  so 
many  spinsters  in  the  neighborhood." 

"  You  think  it  unfair,  perhaps,  for  one  woman  to-have 
two  husbands  while  there  are  spinsters  who  have  not 
secured  even  one  ?" 

"  Well — er — that  was  not  quite  what  I  had  in  my  mind; 
but,  now  that  you  mention  it,  I  am  inclined. to  agree." 

"  Have  you  ever  thought  about  the  best  way  to  ap- 
proach a  widow  on  the  subject  of  matrimony  ?"  Mr.  Jel- 
lybond asked. 

"  Er — no,"  said  Mr.  Worringham.  "  Is  there — er — do 
220 


\ 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

you  not — er — in  a  word,  what  difference  would  you  make 
in  the  case  of  a  widow  ?" 

"  Well,  from  observation  I  gather  that  to  win  a  spin- 
ster is  one  thing,  but  to  win  a  widow  is  quite  another," 
Mr.  Jellybond  assured  him,  confidentially.  "  To  win  a 
spinster  you  must  make  her  understand  that  you  can- 
not live  without  her ;  but  to  win  a  widow  you  must  make 
her  feel  that  she  cannot  live  without  you.  Without  car- 
ing a  rap  for  you  as  a  man,  she  may  dote  upon  you  as 
an  addition  to  her  comfort." 

"  Indeed !"  said  Mr.  Worringham,  much  impressed. 

The  thud  of  a  horse's  hoofs  on  the  turf  behind  them 
caused  them  both  to  look  round. 

"  Cadenhouse  !"  Mr.  Worringham  ejaculated. 

A  curious  change  passed  over  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney. 
It  was  as  if  his  whole  person  had  stiffened  into  an  ex- 
pression of  suspense.  The  horseman  pulled  up  and  dis- 
mounted when  he  came  abreast  of  them.  He  greeted 
Mr.  Worringham,  then  glanced  casually  at  Mr.  Jelly- 
bond,  whom  he  had  not  met  before.  The  vicar  intro- 
duced them. 

"  I  am  glad  to  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Lord  Ca- 
denhouse at  last,"  said  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney. 

"  Have  you  been  some  time  in  the  neighborhood 
then?"  Cadenhouse  asked. 

"  It  was  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  who  bought  the  Swiss 
Cottage,"  Mr.  Worringham  interposed. 

"  Oh,  really,"  said  Cadenhouse,  on  whom  the  informa- 
tion made  no  impression  whatever,  so  little  did  anything 
that  happened  in  the  neighborhood  interest  him  in  those 
days.  But  his  polite  affectation  of  interest,  which  con- 
veyed the  most  perfect  indifference,  instead  of  offending 
Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney,  seemed  to  have  the  effect  of  set- 
ting him  at  ease  again.  The  tension  of  his  attitude 
relaxed,  and,  although  he  continued  watchful,  he  ceased 
to  be  anxious. 

221 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

All  three  walked  on  together,  Cadenhouse  leading  his 
horse.  The  long  facade  of  the  house  lay  before  them, 
whitening  in  the  sunshine.  The  stiff  flower-beds  of  the 
sunken  Italian  garden  glowed  with  color.  A  statue  here 
and  there  in  the  distance  gleamed  white  against  the  dark 
brightness  of  the  evergreen  shrubs.  Mrs.  Kingcon- 
stance  had  done  her  worst  with  gray  stucco  and  debased 
ornamentation  to  make  the  house  rococo,  and  although 
the  stately  line  of  the  old  Elizabethan  mansion  held  its 
own  against  the  degradation,  no  one  of  taste  could  see  it 
and  not  sigh  for  the  quiet  richness  of  the  deep  red  brick, 
mellowed  by  age,  which  had  been  its  original  boast. 

At  one  end  of  the  terrace  bright-colored  parasols  pro- 
claimed the  presence  of  ladies.  Mrs.  Kingconstance  and 
her  sister-in-law  were  seated  there  idling,  with  books  on 
their  laps,  in  which  apparently  they  took  no  interest. 
The  gentlemen  joined  them,  and  instantly  all  was  ani- 
mation. 

Clodd  had  appeared  opportunely  to  lead  away  Caden- 
house's  horse  ;  but,  having  done  so,  he  returned.  He 
had  seen  Mr.  Jellybond  coming,  and,  thinking  only  his 
own  important  business  could  have  brought  him  to  the 
house,  he  stationed  himself  conspicuously  at  a  little  dis- 
tance in  an  awkward  attitude,  and  waited  to  be  sum- 
moned. He  had  been  hovering  about  all  the  morning, 
specially  well  dressed,  with  a  view  to  making  his  appli- 
cation for  promotion  in  person,  but  had  not  the  courage 
to  approach  the  presence  unsupported. 

"  How  ridiculous  Clodd  looks  standing  there !"  said 
Miss  Kingconstance.  "  What  does  he  think  he's  doing  ?" 

"  What  do  you  want,  Clodd  ?"  Mrs.  Kingconstance 
asked,  apathetically. 

Clodd  came  forward,  doffed  his  cap,  and  looked  at 
Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney ;  but  that  gentleman,  taken  un- 
awares by  his  ill-timed  arrival  on  the  scene,  could  think 
of  no  way  to  account  for  it. 

222 


I    SEED   MISS   LORRAINE   A-COMIN'   OOP   T'   DRIVE*" 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  What  do  you  want — er — my  good  lad  ?"  he  asked. 

Clodd,  holding  his  cap  in  both  hands,  and  every  now 
and  then  giving  it  a  twirl  in  his  nervousness,  looked 
hard  at  him. 

"  The  place,"  he  jerked  out,  with  a  gasp. 

"  By-the-way,  Clodd,"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  exclaimed, 
suddenly  rousing  herself,  "  will  you  be  good  enough  to 
explain  what  you  meant  by  telling  Miss  Julia  that  im- 
pertinent falsehood  yesterday  evening,  and  what  you 
were  talking  to  Miss  Lorraine  about  at  the  window  ? 
What  had  you  been  doing  for  Miss  Lorraine  ?  Now, 
don't  tell  me  any  preposterous  stories." 

Great  drops  of  perspiration  stood  on  the  culprit's  fore- 
head. He  twirled  his  cap  and  appealed  with  a  look  to 
Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney ;  but  that  gentleman  was  severely 
neutral. 

"  Well  ?"  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance,  impatiently. 

Cadenhouse  would  have  retired ;  but  Miss  Kingcon- 
stance playfully  barred  the  way  with  her  parasol. 

"  There's  something  interesting  coming,"  she  whis- 
pered. "  Do  wait  and  hear." 

Mr.  Worringham  sat  with  his  hands  crossed  on  the 
top  of  his  stick,  absently  blinking  at  the  scene. 

"  Well,  m'm,"  Clodd  stammered  at  last,  scraping  his 
foot  on  the  ground,  "  I'm  very  sorry,  m'm.  1  wouldn't 
'a'  told  Miss  Julia  no  lies  if  she  'edn't  'a'  asked  no  ques- 
tions, on'y  she  come  a-sneakin'  and  a-listenin'  at  the 
window — " 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  stopped  him  with  a  gesture. 

"  Remember  of  whom  you  are  speaking,  sir  !"  she  ex- 
claimed. 

Clodd  looked  at  her  stupidly  with  his  mouth  open,  and 
then  turned  to  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney. 

"  Innocent  of  offence  !"  that  gentleman  ejaculated. 
"  It  is  his  way  of  expressing  himself.  These  gentry  can 
only  tell  their  stories  in  their  own  way." 

223 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

*  Pray  let  him  go  on  in  his  own  way,"  said  Miss  King- 
constance, languidly.  "  It  promises  to  be  unique." 

"  Go  on,  then/'  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance,  resigning 
herself  to  the  clownish  simplicity  of  Clodd. 

"  A-sneakin'  and  a-listenin'  at  the  window,"  he  repeat- 
ed, doggedly,  "to  wot  1  was  a-sayin'  to  Miss  Lorraine;  but 
bein'  as  she  was  round  t'  corner,  she  only  'eard  enough 
to  mak'  'er  cu'yous,  an'  she  ses  to  me,  '  Clodd/  she  ses, 
w'en  Miss  Lorraine  'ad  gone,  '  I'll  gi'e  yew  tew  'arf-sov- 
erins/  she  ses, '  to  tell  me  wot  yer've  bin  a-doin'  fur  Lor- 
raine/ ses  she."  Here  Clodd  gave  his  hat  a  twirl  and 
looked  at  the  group,  as  who  should  say  :  "  That's  in- 
iquity for  you,  if  you  like  I"  "  I  tol'  'er  it  wer'n't  naw- 
thin'  in  pertic'lar,"  he  stolidly  pursued,  "but  she  wouldn't 
believe  that,  an'  she  stretched  out  'er  'and  in  the  dark, 
an' she  ses:  'Clodd/ ses  she,  "ere's  the  tew 'arf-soverins/ 
she  ses,  '  now  tell  us/  she  ses  ;  '  and  wotever  yew  do, 
don't  come  fur  to  go  fur  to  tell  me  no  lies,  else  yew'll  be 
'ad  oop  afore  me  ma,  an'  then  yew'll  catch  it,  won't  yew, 
oh,  no  !'  '  Clodd  gave  his  cap  a  twirl  by  way  of  punctu- 
ation. "  Well,  m'm,"  he  continued,  "  1  tried  'ard  to  con- 
vince 'er  it  wasn't  nawthin';  but  she'd  got  it  into  'er  'ead 
contrariwise,  an'  nowt  wouldn't  convince  'er  she  was 
wrong,  so  1  jest  tol'  'er  summat  to  git  rid  uf  'er — an'  that 
summat  were  so  werry  ridic'lous/'  Clodd  concluded  with 
a  grin,  "  that  if  Miss  Julia  'adn't  'a'  bin  in  sech  a  'urry 
to  b'lieve  anythink,  she'd  'a'  knawed  i'  'arf  a  min'et  as 
'twas  lies." 

"  How  wicked  of  you  !"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  cried. 

"  Beg  pardon,  m'm,"  said  Clodd,  with  a  scrape  of  his 
foot.  "  It  were  tew  sixpences,"  he  added,  "  as  Miss  Julia 
passed  off  on  us  i'  the  dark  fur  tew  'arf-soverins." 

"  That  must  be  another  fabrication,  I  am  sure,"  said 
Mrs.  Kingconstance,  appealing  to  them  all.  "  Julia 
never  could  have  done  such  a  thing." 

"  Except  by  mistake,"  Mr.  Jelly  bond  qualified. 

224 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"Doubtless  a  mistake,"  said  Miss  Kingconstance, 
slowly,  with  equivocal  emphasis,  leaning  back  in  her 
chair  and  looking  up  at  the  sky. 

"  But  what  were  you  talking  to  Miss  Lorraine  about  ?" 
Mrs.  Kingconstance  demanded.  "  You  have  not  told 
us  that  yet ;  and  you  had  something  mysterious  to  say 
to  her  which  you  wanted  to  keep  secret." 

Clodd  looked  at  her,  then  looked  at  the  ground  stupid- 
ly, and  twirled  his  cap. 

"  Well  ?"  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance,  impatiently.  "  I'm 
waiting." 

Clodd  shuffled  his  feet  and  twirled  his  cap  in  an  ecstasy 
of  nervousness. 

"  Well,  m'm,"  he  began,  "  Miss  Lorraine's  very  pertic'- 
lar  about  her  garding,  an'  I  hes  to  'elp  'er  wi'  it,  an'  she 
tol'  me  to  get  it  tidyed  oop  fur  t'  beddin'-out  plants  which 
did  oughter  'a'  bin  put  in  las'  week.  That  wer'  three 
days  ago.  But  1's  not  much  on  a  gardiner,  m'm,  though 
smart  enough  at  in-door  work" — he  looked  at  Mr.  Jelly- 
bond — "  an'  I  clean  forgot ;  an'  Miss  Lorraine  called  me 
fur  everythink  w'en  she  went  an'  found  'em  bulbs  still 
in.  But  she's  a  rare  un,  m'm,  Miss  Lorraine  is,  an'  any 
one  on  us  'ud  do  any  think  to  please  'er;  an'  I  felt  more 
mad  because  I'd  forgot  t'  garden  than  1  felt  riled  at  bein' 
called  fur  it." 

*  A  very  proper  sentiment,"  Mr.  Jelly  bond  murmured. 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  smiled  agreement. 

"  So  1  cleaned  oop  in  a  'urry  yestiddy  afternoon," 
Clodd,  thus  encouraged,  continued  with  slow  emphasis, 
"  an'  as  luck  would  'av'  it,  I  see  Miss  Lorraine  a-comin' 
in  jest  as  I  were  goin'  'ome,  an'  I  made  so  bold  as  to  arsk 
to  speak  to  'er,  fur  1  wanted  ter  let  'er  know  as  1  were 
sorry  fur  my  furget,  an'  1  thowt  she'd  be  pleased  b'cos 
as  1  done  wot  1  could  ter — ter — " 

"  Atone  for  it,"  Mr.  Jellybond  suggested,  with  appro- 
bation. "  You  felt  you  had  been  in  the  wrong,  and  hav- 
p  225 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

ing  made  what  reparation  you  could,  you  wished  to  be 
forgiven.  Quite  the  right  feeling — quite  the  right  feel- 
ing, indeed." 

"  Quite  the  right  feeling,"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  echoed. 

These  soft  plaudits  were  sweet  to  Clodd,  but  they 
threatened  to  be  his  undoing,  for  the  moment  he  felt  his 
audience  with  him  he  began  to  lose  his  head. 

"  As  I  sed  afore,  m'm,"  he  plunged  on,  "  1  seed  Miss 
Lorraine  a-comin'  oop  t'  drive  wi'  'er  shoes  an'  stockin's 
i'  'er  'and—" 

Everybody  sat  up  suddenly. 

"  With  what  in  her  hand  ?"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  ex- 
claimed. 

Clodd  clapped  his  hand  on  his  mouth,  a  gesture  which, 
under  the  circumstances,  highly  resembled  the  pro- 
verbial late  locking  of  the  stable  door. 

"  He  said, '  with  her  shoes  and  stockings  in  her  hand,'  " 
Miss  Kingconstance  observed,  with  a  suppressed  smile. 

Clodd  assented.     He  saw  that  there  was  no  help  for  it. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Miss  Lorraine  Kingcon- 
stance had  nothing  on  her  feet  ?"  her  mother  demanded. 

"  1  didn't  look  fur  to  see,  m'm,"  Clodd  answered,  dis- 
creetly. 

"  You  said  she  had  her  shoes  and  stockings  in  her 
hand  ?" 

"  Yes,  m'm." 

"  Do  you  think,"  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance,  turning  to 
them  all  imploringly — "  do  you  think  that  a  daughter  of 
mine  could  have  been  walking  about  barefooted  ?" 

No  one  ventured  to  deny  it. 

"  Where  is  Lorraine?"  her  mother  asked,  in  a  despair- 
ing voice. 

"  Would  it  not  be  just  as  well  to  conclude  the  exam- 
ination of  Clodd  ?"  Mr.  Jellybond  ventured  to  suggest. 

"  Have  you  anything  more  to  tell  ?"  Mrs.  Kingcon- 
stance snapped,  impatiently. 

226 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"No,m'm/saidClodd. 

*  Then  you  can  go." 
^Clodd  awaited  no  second  bidding. 

"  Now,  what  is  to  be  done  ?"  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance. 

But  before  any  one  could  reply  the  first  rumble  of  the 
great  gong  in  the  hall  was  heard,  and  as  the  velvet  tones, 
swelling  in  volume,  rolled  out  crescendo,  Mrs.  Kingcon- 
stance's  perturbation  subsided.  There  was  lobster  may- 
onnaise for  luncheon.  She  rose  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Let  us  go  in,"  she  said. 

Mr.  Jellybond  offered  her  his  arm. 
227 


CHAPTER     XXIV 

IT  was  the  old  story.    One  person  goes  in  to  eat  lobster 
mayonnaise,  while  another  goes  out  to  weep  bit- 
terly.    Clodd  knew  he  had  made  a  mess  of  it,  and 
fled  from  the  spot  headlong,  as  if  by  haste  he  could 
escape  from  his  own  indiscretion. 

*  Oh,  desh  it !"  he  exclaimed,  stopping  short  in  a  shady 
alley,  and  bringing  down  a  clinched  fist  on  one  side. 
"  Oh,  deng  it !"  he  cried,  bringing  down  the  other  fist  on 
the  other  side,  and  making  a  bow  of  his  back.     "  Oh, 
wot  a  fule  1's  bin,  to  be  sure  !*  he  groaned,  raising  both 
fists  and  bringing  them  down  together. 

Babs,  coming  up  behind  him  from  under  the  trees,  was 
in  time  to  witness  this  performance. 

"  Have  you  lost  anything,  Clodd  ?"  she  said. 

Clodd  turned  to  her  with  a  distorted  countenance. 

"  Miss  Lorraine/'  he  whimpered,  "  I's  as  good  as  split 
on  you." 

"  Well,  and  after  that  ?"  said  Babs,  eying  him  con- 
temptuously. 

Clodd  shook  both  his  clinched  fists  at  the  landscape 
in  despair  of  the  whole  position. 

"  Not  but  what  yew  can  square  it,"  he  said,  suddenly, 
pulling  himself  together  and  becoming  confidential. 
"  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney,  Vs  squared  it  fur  Miss  Julia." 

"  What  had  Miss  Julia  been  doing  ?" 

*  She  made  b'lieve  in  the  dark  as  two  sixpences  was 
two  'arf-soverins." 

*  Clever  of  her,"  said  Babs,  laconically. 

228 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  But  Mr.  Jellybond  'e  said  of  course  it  were  by  mis- 
take she  done  it." 

"  Clever  of  him/'  said  Babs.  "  But  how  did  I  come 
in?" 

"  They'll  be  a-wantin'  of  yew  to  arsk  if  yew  was  walk- 
in'  out  yestiddy  barefoot,"  Clodd  answered,  evasivelj7. 
"  If  yer  ma  'ears  as  yew  did,  she'll  think  worse  on  yew 
nor  if  yew'd  set  t'  house  afire.  I  didn't  split  intentional," 
he  added,  in  eager  self-justification ;  "  but  I  got  sorter 
confused  like,  an'  let  out  as  'ow  I'd  seed  yew  wi'  yer 
shoes  and  stockins  i'  yewr  'and.  But  I  tol'  'em  I  didn't 
look  to  see  if  yew'd  none  on  yer  feet  as  well,  thinkin' 
likely  yew'd  'ave  more  nor  one  pair ;  so  yew've  got  the 
cue,  miss." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Babs,  dryly. 

On  the  way  in  she  lingered,  looking  up  at  the  house 
intently,  as  if  she  were  asking  some  question  of  it.  In 
the  hall  she  encountered  the  butler. 

*  I  say,  Benson,  what's  the  pet  dish  for  luncheon  to- 
day ?"  she  asked. 

"  Lobster  mayonnaise,  miss." 

"  And  champagne  ?" 

"  Yes,  miss." 

Babs  threw  up  her  hat.  It  descended  on  Benson's 
head.  His  dignity  was  marred  for  a  moment  by  a  twin- 
kle in  his  eye.  He  knew  as  well  as  Babs  did  that  she 
would  have  no  occasion  to  be  afraid  of  her  mother's  se- 
verity once  it  was  tempered  by  lobster  salad  and  cham- 
pagne. 

"  Have  they  been  round  yet  ?"  she  said,  turning  back 
to  ask  the  question. 

"  They  are  being  partaken  of  just  at  this  moment, 
miss." 

Babs  glanced  at  the  clock. 

"  They'll  take  a  few  minutes  to  act,"  she  remarked. 
*  I  might  as  well  make  myself  tidy." 

229 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

She  ran  up-stairs,  and  a  little  later  burst  into  the  din- 
ing-room with  her  usual  impetuosity.  Seeing  Caden- 
house, she  stopped  short,  her  face  lighted  up,  the  deli- 
cate shell-pink  of  her  cheeks  deepened,  and  a  smile  of 
irrepressible  gladness  enhanced  the  charm  of  her  eyes 
and  mouth. 

When  the  greetings  were  over,  Babs  stood  a  moment 
reflecting.  Cadenhouse  was  seated  at  her  mother's 
right,  with  Miss  Kingconstance  beside  him. 

"  Oh,  dear,  1  don't  know  where  to  sit,"  said  Babs.  "  1 
want  to  be  beside  Cadenhouse,  and  opposite  to  him  as 
well — beside  him  to  talk  to  him,  and  opposite  to  him  to 
see  him.  Perhaps  opposite  to  him's  the  best,"  she  pur- 
sued. "  Mr.  Jellybond,  move  up  a  little  higher,  like  a 
good  soul." 

Mr.  Jellybond  complied  effusively. 

"  Really,  Babs !"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  remonstrated. 

"  It's  all  right,  mamma,''  said  Babs,  with  a  smile. 
"  How  about  that  mayonnaise  ?" 

"  Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance,  addressing  herself  to 
the  subject  with  the  serious  interest  she  felt  in  it,  nicely 
tempered  by  the  becoming  modesty  of  a  hostess,  "  it  was 
really  rather  nice." 

"  Excellent,"  Mr.  Jellybond  ejaculated. 

Babs  looked  round. 

"  Where's  dear  Julia  ?"  she  asked. 

"  You  know,  dear,"  her  mother  answered,  "  she's  gone 
to  lunch  with  Meg  Normanton." 

"  What  a  bother  !"  said  Babs.  "  I  like  to  have  the 
whole  family  and  half  the  neighborhood  here  on  these 
occasions.  -But  never  mind.  Fire  away." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Babs  ?"  her  mother  asked. 

"  The  row,  of  course,"  said  Babs,  noiselessly  clapping 
her  little  hands,  an  habitual  gesture.  "Aren't  we  going 
to  have  a  row  ?"  she  added,  with  a  disappointed  air. 

They  all  tried  not  to  smile,  but  with  indifferent  suc- 

230 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

cess.  Benson  deftly  refilled  the  champagne  glasses.  Mrs. 
Kingconstance  sipped,  and  looked  from  Mr.  Jellybond  to 
Cadenhouse  for  inspiration,  then  sipped  again. 

"  Now,  don't  you  be  asking  any  one's  advice,  mamma," 
Babs  warned  her.  "  Remember  your  promise.  This 
is  our  game.  The  others  may  look  on  and  applaud 
if  they  like;  but  they  mustn't  interfere.  It's  you  to 
play." 

"  Babs,"  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance,  attempting  to  be 
severe,  "  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself." 

"  I'll  try,"  said  Babs. 

Cadenhouse's  countenance  relaxed. 

"  One  to  me,"  sa!d  Babs.  "  It's  your  turn  again, 
mamma." 

"  But  really,  Babs,"  said.  Mrs.  Kingconstance,  with 
quivering  lips,  "  this  is  very  serious — this — this  story." 

"  If  it  be  true,"  Mr.  Jellybond  put  in,  piously. 

"  Clodd  says  he  saw  you  with  your  shoes  and  stock- 
ings in  your  hand.  What  have  you  to  say  to  that  ?" 

"  Well,"  said  Babs,  deliberately,  "  I  confess  it  isn't  the 
usual  place  for  them  ;  but  I  had  my  reasons." 

"  Oh,  dear  !"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  exclaimed.  "  It  is 
true,  then  ?  You  ivere  walking  barefooted  ?  What 
could  make  yqu  do  such  a  thing  ?" 

"  Don't  be  shocked,  mamma,"  Babs  pleaded.  "  There's 
plenty  of  precedent  for  walking  barefooted.  There's 
holy  writ,  isn't  there,  Mr.  Worringham  ?  Lots  of  people 
did  it  in  days  of  yore.  It  was  quite  the  thing  at  one  time 
to  burnish  3rour  soul  by  bruising  your  feet." 

"  Really,  Babs,  how  could  you  ?"  Mrs.  Kingconstance 
helplessly  ejaculated. 

Then  there  was  a  pause. 

"Trial  over?"  said  Babs,  at  last.  "Culprit  pleads 
guilty.  You  can  defer  sentence  or  pronounce  it  at  once, 
as  you  like  ;  or  you  can,  being  a  good,  kind,  generous, 
dear  mamma,  grant  a  free  pardon  in  honor  of  the  occa- 

231 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

sion.     I'll  put  it  to  the  vote.     Those  who  are  for  a  free 
pardon  hold  up  their  hands." 

Everybody  held  up  a  hand  except  Mr.  Jellybond 
Tinney,  who  in  his  enthusiasm  held  up  two. 

"  Carried  unanimously,"  he  said,  amidst  a  burst  of 
hilarity  in  which  Mrs.  Kingconstance  joined  in  spite  of 
herself. 

"  That's  my  game,  I  think,"  said  Babs.  "And  now 
for  food." 

232 


CHAPTER    XXV 

ATER  luncheon  Babs  wanted  to  take  possession 
of  Cadenhouse.  He  was  standing  in  a  win- 
dow talking  to  Miss  Kingconstance,  and  Babs 
joined  them  there. 

"  Babs,"  said  her  aunt,  "  you're  a  dreadful  child !" 

Babs  owned  to  it  unaffectedly. 

"And  the  worst  of  it  is,  auntie,"*  she  said,  "  I'm  not 
child  enough  to  be  so  dreadful.  I  am  growing  up.  I 
have  bursts  of  young-ladylike  feeling  that  distress  me." 

"  But  why  don't  you  make  up  your  mind  to  be  a  young 
lady  at  once  ?"  said  Cadenhouse. 

"  Would  you  love  me  if  I  did  ?"  Babs  asked,  wistfully. 

Miss  Kingconstance  and  Cadenhouse  exchanged 
smiling  glances. 

"  We  do  love  you,  Babs,"  Cadenhouse  assured  her. 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course,  I  know,"  Babs  answered,  impa- 
tiently. "  But  that  is  not  what  I  mean,  and  you  know 
it  is  not.  You  know  that  I  want  you  to  love  me — me — 
and  only  me.  Why  don't  you  ?" 

Cadenhouse  looked  at  her  benignly. 

"  You're  younger  than  you  think  you  are,  Babs,"  he 
said. 

"  When  you  look  down  upon  me  from  that  height,  I 
am  old  and  seared  and  gray,"  she  answered,  bitterly, 
"  because  you  despise  me." 

"  I  despise  you  ?"  he  exclaimed. 

*  No,  you  don't  even  despise  me,"  she  rejoined.  "  You 
don't  think  enough  about  me  for  that.  To  you  I  am 

233 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

just  an  ordinary  little  piece  of  furniture,  slightly  orna- 
mental, but  not  at  all  useful.  I  should  make  no  gap  in 
your  life  were  I  to  be  removed. "  She  looked  up  at  Caden- 
house,  half  hoping  that  he  would  contradict  her ;  but  he 
remained  silent,  gravely  considering. 

Miss  Kingconstance  felt  the  pause  awkward,  and 
broke  it  ruthlessly. 

"  But  come  now,  let  us  discuss  you,  Babs,"  she  said. 
"  You're  tired  of  being  a  dreadful  child — " 

"  I'm  tired  of  everything,"  Babs  interrupted,  "  begin- 
ning with  Julia.  Julia's  such  a  beastly  success.  The 
whole  place  will  lie  to  get  me  out  of  scrapes,  and  they 
can't  do  it ;  but  Julia  can't  be  got  into  a  scrape  even 
when  they  tell  the  truth  about  her.  I  don't  want  her  got 
into  scrapes.  I  never  peach  on  her  myself.  But  I  just 
tell  you  this -to  show  you  where  I  am." 

"  Shall  I  translate  ?"  said  Miss  Kingconstance  to 
Cadenhouse. 

"  I  could  kick  you,  Aunt  Lorraine,"  Babs  flashed 
forth  upon  that.  "  You  are  just  as  bad  as  the  rest — you 
like  to  humiliate  me.  Go  away,  can't  you,  and  let  me 
talk  to  Cadenhouse.  He  understands  me,  for  all  your 
sneers." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  child,  I'm  sorry,"  her  aunt  exclaimed. 
"  I  wasn't  sneering  at  you  at  all." 

Babs  threw  herself  into  a  chair  and  burst  into  tears. 
Miss  Kingconstance  would  fain  have  caressed  and  com- 
forted her,  but  Babs  pushed  her  away. 

"  I'm  tired  of  you,"  she  sobbed — "  I'm  tired  of  every- 
thing and  everybody.  I  want  a  change — something 
to  make  me  feel  differently.  Oh,  if  I  could  only  feel 
more — or  less  !" 

"  Why,  my  dear  child,  you  have  always  said  that  you 
hated  change." 

"  I  know,"  Babs  snapped  ;  "  but  now  I  love  it.  It's 
monotony  that  I  hate — the  same  old  thing  forever  and 

234 


YOU   GIVE   ME   NOTHING   BUT   NATURE,  AND   I'M   HUMAN  '  " 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

ever,  world  without  end,  and  nothing  to  come  of  it.  I'm 
as  sick  of  it  now  as  Montacute  is.  I  loathe  that  horrible 
greenery  out  there.  You  give  me  nature  and  nothing 
but  nature,  and  I'm  human  ;  it  is  the  works  of  man  that 
claim  me.  Cadenhouse,  you  look  as  neutral  as  a  fish." 

Miss  Kingconstance,  who  had  been  kneeling  beside 
Babs,  sat  down  on  the  floor,  and  looked  up  at  Cadenhouse 
in  perplexity. 

"  What's  to  be  done  ?"  she  said,  at  last. 

He  stroked  his  chin. 

"  There  are  schools,  of  course," she  pursued — "finish- 
ing schools,  in  London  and  Paris.  The  elder  girls  are 
taken  about — to  concerts,  to  the  opera,  to  picture-gal- 
leries— " 

Babs  roused  herself  energetically. 

"  That's  it !"  she  cried.  "  That's  the  kind  of  thing  1 
want.  Give  me  art  to  make  me  love  nature.  Do  ar- 
range it,  you  two,  with  mamma.  I  know  she'd  see 
reason  if  the  suggestion  came  from  Cadenhouse.  Get 
her  to  send  us  away — me  and  Montacute — to  that  kind 
of  school.  He  could  go  to  a  tutor  or  a  coach  or  some- 
thing close  by." 

"  What  do  you  think  ?"  Miss  Kingconstance  asked 
Cadenhouse,  dubiously. 

"  1  think  there  is  nothing  else  for  it,"  he  answered. 

*  Gloria  in  excelsis!"  Babs  shouted,  jumping  up.  *  I'll 
go  and  tell  Cute." 

"  But  it's  not  settled,"  her  aunt  remonstrated. 

"  Really,  Aunt  Lorraine,  you're  childish,"  Babs, 
already  at  the  door,  retorted.  "  You  ought  to  know 
mamma  better  by  this  time." 

There  was  an  interval  of  silence  after  the  door  slammed 
upon  Babs,  then  Miss  Kingconstance  sighed, "  Heigho  !" 

"  I  understand  Babs,"  she  said.  "  It  is  bad  for  her 
now ;  but  it  will  be  worse  by-and-by.  1  was  like  her 
once — all  life  and  energy  and — hope.  Look  at  me  now." 

235 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

Cadenhouse  was  looking  at  her.  Some  people  are 
like  their  own  ancestors — they  repeat  the  portraits  in  the 
family  picture-gallery.  But  Miss  Kingconstance  was 
not  like  anything  that  Cadenhouse  had  ever  seen  be- 
fore. She  was  more  like  something  he  had  dreamed, 
and  he  had  expected  much  from  her  appearance,  but  had 
hitherto  been  disappointed.  She  was  too  much  like  him- 
self, in  that  she  was  not  of  the  past  or  the  present,  but  of 
the  future,  for  him  to  understand  her  all  at  once.  Miss 
Kingconstance  had  appeared  prematurely  while  the 
east  wind  of  prejudice  was  still  blowing  upon  the  aspira- 
tions of  women  and  shrivelling  them,  and  had  suffered 
blight. 

"  But  come  out  for  a  turn,"  she  added.  "  It  is  stifling 
here." 

They  made  for  a  green  glade  in  the  park,  out  of  sight 
of  the  house. 

"  Do  you  remember,"  she  said,  "  we  used  often  to  race 
down  here  together  when  we  were  boy  and  girl  ?  What 
joy  it  was  in  those  days  just  to  be  alive  1  We  shall  never 
feel  like  that  again,  Cadenhouse." 

"  Why  not  ?"  he  objected,  in  his  measured  way. 

"  Why  ?"  She  laughed  mirthlessly.  "  Why,  because 
you  are  a  grave,  dignified  man — self-contained,  haugh- 
ty— I  don't  know  what.  But,  at  any  rate,  you  will  never 
feel  like  a  boy  again,  while  I — "  She  paused. 

"  Tell  me  about  yourself,  Lorraine." 

"  Do  you  really  care  to  hear  ?" 

"  I  do,  indeed — I  greatly  care  to  hear." 

"  May  I  take  your  arm  ?" 

He  held  out  his  arm  to  her,  and  she  leaned  upon  him 
as  they  paced  on  together  in  step,  slowly,  under  the 
shadowy  trees. 

"  You  are  what  you  are  by  reason  of  development,"  she 
began.  "  It  is  suppression  which  has  made  me  what  I 
am.  Body  and  soul  1  am  suffering  from  it — from  the 

236 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

cruel  suppression  to  which  1  have  been  subjected  all  my 
life — for  no  other  reason  but  that  I  was  born  to  be  a 
woman.  In  the  nursery  no  part  of  my  frame  was  prop- 
erly exercised  because  '  little  girls  must  behave,  miss/ 
In  the  school-room  my  mind  was  left  uninformed  because 
'  girls  don't  require  so  much  teaching/  I  was  kept  im- 
mature, or  made  to  be  amateur,  in  everything.  In  so- 
ciety my  wits  burned  out  for  want  of  nourishment.  Here, 
at  home,  1  must  waste  my  womanhood.  I  must  mourn 
alone  in  the  most  absolute  of  all  solitude,  the  solitude  of 
the  heart — husbandless,  childless,  without  a  single 
happy  responsibility.  Because  of  these  things  it  has 
come  to  pass  that  there  is  no  more  health  in  me.  Mind 
and  body,  I  am  wrong — all  wrong." 

"  I  know,"  said  Cadenhouse.  "  I  know  how  it  is  with 
women  like  you  under  such  circumstances.  You  offer 
no  resistance  to  the  evils  of  your  unnatural  environment, 
and  all  goes  wrong  with  you.  But  surely  it  isn't  too 
late.  You  are  young,  Lorraine,  and  there  are  many 
things  still  to  be  done.  I  seem  to  have  more  to  do  here 
than  anywhere." 

"You — yes.  But  consider  my  position.  What  do  you 
think  there  is  for  me  to  do  in  the  day  ?  I  get  up  in  the 
morning,  and  am  dressed.  Then  1  breakfast,  and  after 
that  what  do  you  suppose  ?  You  have  your  estates  to 
manage,  your  public  duties  to  attend  to,  your  studies." 

*  But  you  are  not  cut  off  from  study,"  he  put  in, 
eagerly. 

"  To  what  end  should  I  study  ?  Study  for  study's 
sake  is  as  stultifying  as  art  for  art's  sake,  as  unsatisfac- 
tory as  love  for  love's  sake — 

'  Work  without  hope  drops  nectar  in  a  sieve, 
And  hope  without  an  object  cannot  live.' " 

Cadenhouse  was  silent  for  a  little. 
"  I  seem  to  see  that  you  are  not  to  be  wasted,"  he  said, 

237 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

at  last.  "  What  you  are  feeling  so  strongly  now  is  only 
a  phase — one  of  the  many  through  which  you  must  pass, 
and  must  pass  alone.  Life  comes  to  a  loose  end  with  all 
of  us  at  times — a  loose  end  that  sways  about  in  every 
wind  that  blows,  helpless,  useless,  purposeless,  unlovely, 
until  there  comes  a  gust  of  feeling,  and  it  is  caught  up 
and  woven  once  more  into  the  fabric  of  life  from  which  it 
was  detached — the  fabric  it  was  designed  to  serve  and 
adorn.  There  is  law  in  all  this.  I  lean  to  the  belief 
that  our  desires  are  creative,  that  we  make  circumstances 
ourselves  in  certain  states  of  mind.  When  it  comes  to 
me  in  myself  that  I  shall  succeed,  I  am  not  sure  that  1  am 
merely  foreseeing  success  ;  it  may  be  that  1  am  com- 
pelling it.  1  am  conscious  at  such  moments  of  a  power 
in  myself  which  is  not  ordinarily  under  my  control,  any 
more  than  the  power  to  compose  music  is,  and  1  believe 
that  that  power  is  the  power  which  compels." 

"  In  that  case  we  must  know  what  we  want,"  said  Miss 
Kingconstance,  giving  him  a  curious  look. 

*  Yes,  you  must  know  what  you  want,"  he  answered, 
simply. 

She  made  a  gesture  of  impatience. 

*  You  are  becoming  a  sort  of  a  priest,"  she  said.     "  1 
never  see  a  priest  without  a  feeling  of  intense  pity." 

"  Why  ?"  he  asked,  in  surprise. 

"  Because  the  Lord  made  him  a  man,  and  he  was  not 
satisfied  with  the  work  of  the  Lord.  He  wanted  to  be 
an  angel  before  his  time,  and  therefore  he  wrought  and 
arranged  his  life  so  as  to  mar  both  the  man  and  the 
angel." 

"  1  am  not  an  admirer  of  the  priestly  character  my- 
self," said  Cadenhouse,  innocent  of  any  personal  appli- 
cation. "  The  vice  of  the  priest  is  the  lust  of  power.  He 
is  greedy  to  guide  ;  he  claims  your  obedience  always, 
as  though  he  were  wisdom  incarnate.  His  instrument 
for  the  refractory  is  torture,  whether  of  the  body  or  the 

238 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

mine — here  or  hereafter.  His  rewards  are  anodynes 
which  impair  our  powers.  His  rule  has  fallen  as  a 
blight  upon  every  nation  which  has  suffered  it.  Let  no 
man  come  between  you  and  your  God.  Work  out  your 
own  salvation." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  She  was  asking  for 
bread,  and  he  was  giving  her  his  opinion. 

"  But  1  don't  see  how  religion  can  stand  without  its 
ministers,  all  the  same,"  she  remarked. 

"  Why  should  it  ?"  he  replied.  "  The  more  ministers 
of  religion  we  have  the  better.  That  is  the  ideal  tow- 
ards which  we  are  tending — we  who  love  religion.  We 
foresee  that  in  the  future  there  will  not  be  any  separate 
priesthood,  because  every  man  will  be  a  teacher,  every 
man  an  inspirer  of  right. " 

Miss  Kingconstance  compressed  her  lips.  "  Would 
every  man  be  as  neutral  as  a  fish  ?"  she  wondered. 

"  Do  you  never  come  down  from  the  heights  ?"  she 
exclaimed,  after  a  pause. 

He  looked  at  her  inquiringly. 

"  1  see,"  she  said  ;  "  you  don't  even  understand.  Well, 
never  mind.  Let  us  go  back  and  settle  that  business 
for  Babs.  That  will  be  doing  something  for  some- 
body —  which  is  one  of  the  ways  you  would  pre- 
scribe, 1  believe,  for  staying  hunger  of  the  heart,  is  it 
not  ?" 

He  looked  at  her  again  uneasily,  feeling  that  he  had 
made  some  mistake,  yet  quite  at  a  loss. 

"Oh,  Cadenhouse!"  she  exclaimed.  "If  you  would 
only  come  down  sometimes,  and  be  less  of  a  saint  and 
more  of  a  man  !" 

The  saying  stayed  with  Cadenhouse  and  tormented 
him. 

Late  that  night  in  his  tower  he  sat  and  thought.  He 
had  done  a  good  deal  for  himself.  He  had  lived  the  life, 
and  to  such  good  purpose  that  to  him  at  rare  moments 

239 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

the  sixth  sense  unveiled  itself  and  had  ceased  to  be  a 
wonder  and  a  mystery.  But  that  day,  when  he  would 
have  applied  his  power  to  some  practical  purpose,  it  had 
failed  him — why  ? 

The  question  remained  unanswered. 

240 


CHAPTER    XXVI 

THE  first  attempt  to  persuade  Mrs.  Kingconstance 
that  it  would  be  for  the  good  of  Babs  and  Monta- 
cute  to  send  them  away  was  unsuccessful,  but 
her  resistance  was  purely  sentimental.      She 
saw  very  little  of  the  children,  except  at  meals,  as  a  rule, 
and  did  not  trouble  herself  much  about  them  then ;  but 
that  did  not  make  any  difference  with  regard  to  the 
attitude  of  her  mind  on  the  subject.     She  declared  that 
her  children  were  all  that  she  had  in  the  world,  and  it 
would  be  cruel  to  separate  her  from  them.     Montacute 
was  delicate,  and  required  a  mother's  care ;    and  Babs 
— well,  Babs  was  tiresome  at  times,  she  was  obliged  to 
allow,  but  most  children  are  tiresome.     All  they  want 
is  love. 

"  And  supervision,"  said  Miss  Kingconstance,  dryly. 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  agreed  with  her. 

Mr.  Worringham  was  decidedly  of  opinion  that  a  pub- 
lic school  is  the  proper  place  for  a  boy,  and  stuck  to  that 
point  strenuously  all  through  the  argument,  though 
each  time  he  mentioned  it  he  was  reminded  that  Monta- 
cute was  too  old  for  a  public  school,  even  if  he  hadn't 
been  too  delicate. 

Discipline  was  what  Cadenhouse  stood  out  for.  He 
maintained  that  there  was  no  proper  discipline  for  either 
girl  or  boy  in  such  a  home  as  Dane  Court. 

At  this  point  Mrs.  Kingconstance  told,  irrelevantly, 
how  she  had  sat  up  the  greater  part  of  one  night  with 
Cute  when  he  had  pneumonia.     She  was  touched  to 
Q  241 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

tears  by  the  recollection  of  her  own  devotion  ;  and  be- 
cause of  the  tears  the  discussion  had  to  be  dropped. 

But  the  seed  had  been  sown,  and  when  a  few  days 
later  Montacute's  tutor  resigned  for  a  quite  insufficient 
reason,  and  Babs  caused  the  greatest  anxiety  by  dis- 
appearing on  her  pony  in  the  early  morning  and  not 
returning  till  late  at  night,  and  then  added  exaspera- 
tion to  the  trouble  by  coolly  explaining  that  she  was  so 
sick  of  the  sight  of  "  greenery  "  that  she  had  been  obliged 
to  ride  to  the  market  town  (a  distance  of  thirty-four  miles 
there  and  back)  to  see  the  shops  and  shake  off  the  ob- 
session of  nature  by  the  contemplation  of  human  nature, 
Mrs.  Kingconstance  gave  way.  She  could  not,  of 
course,  spare  Julia  ;  and  indeed  there  was  no  necessity, 
she  said,  that  dear  child  being  all  that  she  ought  to  be, 
and  so  like  herself  at  that  age  ;  but  Babs  must  be 
put  under  proper  control  immediately,  and  it  would  be 
better  for  Montacute,  doubtless,  to  be  with  boys  of  his 
own  age  for  a  little. 

During  all  that  trying  time  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  was 
a  great  help  to  Mrs.  Kingconstance.  He  showed  her 
herself  in  the  noble  character  of  self-sacrificing  mother 
while  the  arrangements  were  being  made  for  the  de- 
parture of  the  children,  and  after  they  had  gone  he  com- 
forted her  with  cordial.  He  it  was  who  met  her  at  the 
station  on  her  return  from  London,  whither  she  had 
gone  to  see  the  children  settled.  Nobody  else,  as  it  hap- 
pened, except  the  coachman,  knew  exactly  when  to  ex- 
pect her.  It  was  a  lovely  afternoon,  but  of  course  the 
dear  lady  was  very  much  upset. 

"  Now  I  should  recommend,"  Mr.  Jellybond  said,  "  if 
1  might  venture,  striking  out  in  a  new  direction.  1  am 
sure  you  didn't  eat  much  luncheon — if  any.  1  felt  sure 
you  would  not,  and  1  made  a  little  plan." 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  was  curious  to  know  what  the 
little  plan  was.  They  were  seated  side  by  side  in  her 

242 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

carriage,  driving  through  the  sweet  green  lanes  together 
— that  long  seventeen  miles  from  the  station. 

"  Well,  I  propose  a  sort  of  little  picnic  in  the  forest." 

"A  sort  of  picnic  in  the  forest  ?  You  and  me  togeth- 
er ?"  she  exclaimed,  with  deprecation  in  her  voice  and 
delight  in  her  countenance. 

"  Oh  no,  my  dear  lady,  certainly  not — exactly." 

He  seemed  rather  shocked  at  the  suggestion,  and  Mrs. 
Kingconstance  perceiving  this,  blushed  at  her  own  in- 
discretion. 

"  What  I  propose  is — "  He  broke  off  artistically. 
"  Do  you  remember  that  day  I  called  upon  you  first? 
Ah,  how  long  ago  it  seems  now  !  How  much  has  hap- 
pened since  !" 

"  How  much,  indeed  !"  she  sighed,  and  none  the  less 
sincerely  because  she  could  hardly  have  mentioned  any 
event  in  proof.  Life  is  punctuated  by  sensation  much 
more  acutely  than  by  circumstance,  and  it  was  emotional 
changes  she  had  in  her  mind  when  she  spoke  —  the 
changes  wrought  by  Mr.  Jellybond. 

"  But  do  you  remember  ?"  he  resumed.  "  We  were 
jesting.  It  seems  to  me  now  that  we  were  very  young 
that  day — at  least,  I  was.  You  are  always  young." 

He  gazed  at  her  intently.  Mrs.  Kingconstance  be- 
came pleasantly  embarrassed. 

"  You  were  saying — "  she  observed,  to  cover  her  con- 
fusion. 

"  I  was  going  to  remind  you  of  some  little  nonsense  we 
talked  about  palmistry." 

"I  remember!"  she  exclaimed.  "You  were  going  to 
bring  a  palmist — just  for  fun,  you  know — to  tell  us 
about  the  lines." 

"  The  lines  that  are  alike  in  our  hands,"  he  supple- 
mented. "  The  person  I  alluded  to  is  living  now  in  the 
forest.  And  I  thought  this  afternoon  —  just  for  dis- 
traction, you  know — it  might  amuse  you  to  go  and  see 

243 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

her.  She  is  quite  respectable,"  he  hastened  to  add  ; 
"  eminently  respectable,  although  of  gypsy  blood.  She 
was,  in  fact,  one  of  the  Lees.  But  of  course  I  would  not 
allow  you  to  go  near  one  who  was  not  respectable." 

*  No,  of  course  not,"  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance.     "  But 
what  do  you  propose,  exactly  ?" 

"  This  is  what  I  propose,"  he  answered,  lowering  his 
voice — "  if  you  approve  of  the  arrangement.  The  road 
on  this  side  of  the  forest  passes  close  to  Thorne  Lodge, 
where  the  good  lady  lives,  and  I  thought,  if  you  sent 
on  the  carriage  and  walked  the  rest  of  the  way —  But 
could  you  ? — would  you  be  equal  to  it  ?  I  always  won- 
der how  those  little  feet  support  you  at  all." 

*  Oh,  but  I'm  a  good  walker,"  Mrs.  Kingconstance 
simpered.     She  would  not  have  called  herself  so  ordi- 
narily ;  but  the  excitement  of  the  adventure  had  seized 
upon  her,  and  the  Indian  summer  of  elderly  passion,  the 
least  controllable,  was  beginning  to  rouse  her  out  of  her 
groove.     "  Stop  the  carriage  when  you  like,"  she  said. 
*  The  servants  won't  think  it  odd,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  I  had  not  considered  that  chance,"  he  replied. 
Her  countenance  fell. 

*  What  is  to  be  done  ?"  she  wanted  to  know. 

*  It  is  a  delicate  matter,"  he  reflected  aloud.     "  You 
are  not  in  the  habit  of  leaving  the  carriage  in  this  way, 
I  suppose  ?" 

She  shook  her  head,  and  inwardly  wished  that  she 
had  been. 

"  What  a  pity  1"  he  ejaculated.  "Anything  unusual, 
you  know,  causes  comment  in  the  servants'  hall.  I'm 
afraid  we  must  give  it  up." 

She  showed  her  disappointment. 

"  If  they  put  us  down  on  the  road  to  the  village  ?"  she 
ventured  to  suggest. 

"  They  need  not  know  that  we  are  going  into  the  forest 
at  all  ?  Hum.  We  must  remember  that,  there  are  other 

244 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

people  who  might  see  us.  No.  We  must  avoid  all  ap- 
pearance of  mystery.  My  original  suggestion  was  the 
best.  Let  us  be  put  down  on  the  high-road  and  send 
word  that  we  are  walking  home." 

By  this  time  Mrs.  Kingconstance  was  so  set  upon  go- 
ing to  Thorne  Lodge  that  she  would  have  accepted  any 
suggestion. 

The  little  house  deep  in  the  forest,  with  its  high, 
thatched  roof,  its  flowering  creepers,  its  rustic  garden 
where  the  bees  hummed,  and  the  thick  privet  hedge  by 
which  its  privacy  was  effectually  secured  from  the  rare 
passer-by,  might  well  have  been  the  home  of  some  benefi- 
cent fairy.  Mrs.  Kingconstance  was  charmed  with  its 
aspect  outside,  and  still  more  charmed  with  the  interior. 
She  had  become  quite  flighty  and  giggly  since  they 
entered  the  wood. 

"  It  is  so  very  funny,  you  know,"  she  said  ;  "  the  most 
unconventional  thing  I  have  ever  done  in  my  life.  Quite 
an  Arabian  Nights'  entertainment  1" 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  knocked  at  the  door  impres- 
sively three  times,  then  held  up  a  finger  to  enjoin  self- 
control,  at  the  same  time  assuring  the  lady  in  a  tragic 
whisper  that  she  need  not  be  nervous.  These  manreu- 
vres  had  the  desired  effect.  Mrs.  Kingconstance  be- 
gan to  thrill. 

The  door  opened  wide,  but  there  was  nobody  to  be 
seen. 

"  Enter  without  fear,"  said  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney. 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  immediately  began  to  tremble,  but 
obeyed. 

The  front  door  shut  itself  after  them,  there  was  a  mo- 
ment's darkness,  then  another  door  opened  with  a  click, 
and  Mrs.  Kingconstance  saw  before  her  what  looked  at 
the  first  glance  like  a  glimpse  of  an  old  church,  all  bathed 
in  an  exquisite  atmosphere  of  greeny  light.  Furniture 
and  walls  and  ceiling  were  all  dark  oak,  the  floor  was  red 

245 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 



bricks,  the  mellow  light  came  through  the  diamond  panes 
of  a  lattice  window.  There  was  very  little  furniture — a 
carved  oak  settle  beneath  the  window,  cushioned  with 
red,  a  high  oak  chair  to  match,  and  a  round  table.  Mrs. 
Kingconstance  sank  down  upon  the  settle  and  looked 
about  her.  There  was  now  no  sign  of  any  door. 

"  I  am  almost  frightened/'  she  whispered. 

Mr.  Jellybond  smiled. 

"  Not  when  I  am  here,  I  hope,"  he  said.  "  The  atmos- 
phere of  the  place  is  not  the  ordinary  atmosphere  of 
earth,  I  confess — " 

"  It  is  all  so  odd  and  unexpected,"  Mrs.  Kingconstance 
put  in. 

He  looked  around  complacently,  like  one  who  is  proud 
of  an  effect.  The  place  had  been  changed  as  by  magic 
since  Babs  saw  it,  but  there  was  no  smell  of  new  wood  or 
varnish.  Mr.  Jellybond  knew  where  old  oak  was  to  be 
had  for  the  price  of  new  deal,  so  that  there  was  no  de- 
ception in  regard  to  the  age  of  anything.  The  only 
wonder  was  how  such  things  came  to  be  there  at  all ; 
but  Mrs.  Kingconstance  did  not  wonder.  She  was  too 
much  impressed  and  too  expectant  to  be  even  ordinarily 
critical. 

"  But  is  there  no  one  here  ?"  she  said,  at  last.  The 
silence  was  becoming  oppressive. 

A  part  of  the  panelling  slid  away  immediately,  and  an 
old  woman,  dressed  in  dark  red,  stood  in  the  aperture. 
She  courtesied  to  the  rich  lady,  but  the  expression  in 
her  shrewd  dark  eyes  was  not  so  humble  as  her  obei- 
sance. 

"  Does  my  lady  require  anything  ?"  she  asked. 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  in  her  astonishment  lost  her 
presence  of  mind. 

"And  if  I  remember  rightly,  in  the  Arabian  Nights," 
Mr.  Jellybond  proceeded,  "  the  adventuring  princess 
was  always  ready  for  a  light  refection.  I  once  boasted 

246 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

to  you  that  I  could  cook,"  he  added,  "  now  you  shall  see. 
Good  mother,  my  tmiform." 

The  old  woman  brought  him  a  white  cap,  an  apron, 
and  long  white  sleeves.  He  put  them  on,  and  looked 
more  of  a  gentleman  in  them  than  in  his  ordinary  dress. 
His  hand  with  the  signet-ring  on  it  looked  particularly 
refined  and  well  kept.  Any  one  would  have  said  a  man 
of  position  at  play. 

"  I  always  like  to  dress  for  my  part/'  he  said, "  what- 
ever it  be." 

The  facile  use  of  the  subjunctive  gave  an  effect  of 
fastidiousness  to  his  language  at  the  moment  which 
also  bespoke  respect.  The  old  woman  brought  in  an- 
other small  table,  on  which  were  several  plated  panni- 
kins and  a  spirit  lamp.  Mr.  Jellybond  peeped  into  the 
pannikins,  then  he  lighted  the  lamp,  and  then  began  to 
stir  and  beat  and  watch  with  the  absorbed  interest  of  an 
artist  in  his  work.  The  old  woman  meanwhile  laid  the 
other  small  table  for  two,  decorated  it  with  flowers,  and 
pushed  it  in  front  of  Mrs.  Kingconstance.  The  place 
was  soon  filled  with  savory  orders.  Mrs.  Kingcon- 
stance sniffed  involuntarily  and  her  mouth  watered  ; 
her  superstitious  tremors  passed  and  she  found  herself 
at  her  ease. 

"  Really,  I  am  ravenous !"  she  exclaimed. 

"  We  hoped  we  might  induce  an  appetite,"  said  Mr- 
Jellybond,  playfully.  "  '  We '  is  the  king  of  cooks.  We 
have  been  the  whole  morning  preparing  dainties  for  our 
lady,  and  I  will  undertake  to  say  that  there  is  not  a  single 
dish  here  of  which  she  has  ever  partaken  before  in  this 
form.  I  only  hope  she  will  find  each  as  excellent  as  it  is 
rare.  Good  mother,  all  is  ready.  Serve  us,  if  you  please. " 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  had  made  no  vain  boast. 

"  I  never  tasted  anything  so  good,"  Mrs.  Kingconstance 
commented,  after  each  dish.  "  I  only  wish  I  could  afford 
to  keep  such  a  cook." 

247 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

Mr.  Jellybond  gazed  at  her  tenderly. 

"  I  pride  myself  on  being  an  amateur  in  the  art,"  he 
said.  "  What  a  joy  it  would  be  to  be  always  at  hand  to 
prepare  you  a  little  refection  !  But  stay.  Have  you 
noticed  nothing  wanting  ?" 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  glanced  about  her  vaguely.  The 
old  woman  stood  by,  shrewdly  observing  her.  It  passed 
through  Mrs.  Kingconstance's  mind  that  there  were  no 
powdered  footmen  ;  but  that  could  not  be  it.  She  looked 
at  the  table. 

"  I  have  it,"  she  said.     "  Nothing  to  drink." 

The  old  woman  brought  a  silver  salver  on  which  were 
some  miniature  decanters  of  quaint  design  and  two 
crystal  goblets.  She  set  them  before  Mr.  Jellybond 
Tinney,  who  placed  his  finger  daintily  on  the  stopper 
of  one  of  the  decanters  as  if  he  were  blessing  it. 

"  Now  this  is  to  be  the  finishing  touch,"  he  said,  "  this 
cordial  which  I  am  about  to  concoct  for  you.  Nothing 
so  vulgar  as  champagne  would  do  for  my  lady.  I 
promise  her  a  draught  of  nectar." 

"  Oh,  don't  make  it  too  strong,"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Not  strong,  of  course,"  he  rejoined,  "  but  subtle — an 
Elysian  draught,  in  fact." 

"  What  lovely  little  bottles  !"  she  said.  "  Surely  they 
don't  belong — "  She  glanced  round. 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  answered,  measuring  out  the  liquids  for 
the  cordial  as  he  talked.  "  These  are  my  things — my 
own  little  private  batterie  de  cuisine,  et  cetera.  I  have  a 
laboratory  in  my  own  house  where  I  pursue  the  science 
and  art  of  la  haute  cuisine.  Did  I  tell  you  about  it  ?  I 
hope  to  show  it  to  you  some  day.  But  this  afternoon  in 
the  carriage,  if  you  remember,  I  told  you  that  I  had  pre- 
pared a  little  picnic.  The  ordinary  picnic — sitting  on  the 
ground,  eating  cold  indigestibles,  contracting  rheuma- 
tism, and  warring  with  insects — does  not  appeal  to 
me.  My  lady  required  distraction,  and  I  was  deter- 

248 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

mined  she  should  have  it ;  but  in  comfort.     Your  seat 
is  cosy?" 

"  It  is  luxurious." 

"And  this  is  not  like  anything  else  you  have  ever  done, 
I  will  undertake  to  say." 

"  No,  indeed  ;  it  is  quite  original.  But  you  are  noth- 
ing if  not  unexpected.  I'm  so  glad  I  came." 

"  You  can  imagine  how  disappointed  I  should  have 
been  if  you  had  not." 

He  handed  her  the  cordial.  She  sipped — and  sipped 
again. 

"  Nectar,  indeed,"  she  ejaculated.     "  What  is  it  ?" 

He  smiled  enigmatically,  raised  his  own  goblet,  and 
also  sipped. 

"  To  my  lady,"  he  said. 

The  light  fell  tenderly  upon  him  through  the  diamond 
panes  of  the  lattice  window,  and  upon  the  dark,  polished 
panels  of  the  comfortable  old  house-place.  It  looked 
like  an  oak  parlor  of  two  hundred  years  ago,  with  a  little 
touch  of  modern  comfort  in  disguise  added  to  relieve 
the  severity.  Mrs.  Kingconstance  nestled  among  her 
cushions.  The  footstool  she  found  at  her  feet  was  just 
the  right  height.  The  little  round  table  at  which  they  sat 
shone  resplendent  when  the  cloth  was  withdrawn.  There 
was  only  one  dish  of  fruit  for  dessert,  but  then  such  fruit ! 
— a  joy  to  the  eye  and  a  delight  to  the  palate.  Mrs. 
Kingconstance  vowed  she  could  not  tell  which  was  the 
greater  gratification,  seeing  it  or  eating  it. 

Mr.  Jellybond  opened  a  case  full  of  gold-tipped  ciga- 
rettes, half  held  it  out  to  her,  and  archly  smiled. 

"  Have  you  ever  ?"  he  breathed. 

She  acknowledged  that  she  had. 

"  Not  before  the  children,  you  know.  But  Lorraine 
does,  regularly.  Do  you  think  it  is  a  bad  habit  ?" 

"  1  think  it  is  a  good  resource  in  times  of  trouble,"  he 
said.  "  Soothing,  sedative.  Just  one  ?" 

349 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

As  she  took  it  she  observed  that  his  eyes  were  kind. 

The  smoke  of  the  perfumed  cigarettes  went  up.  The 
delicious  fragrance  of  coffee  pervaded  the  place.  A 
gracious  sense  of  well-being  suffused  her,  a  conscious- 
ness of  ethereal  happiness,  compared  with  which  any 
pleasure  she  had  ever  before  experienced  seemed  gross. 
Between  the  whiffs  of  her  cigarette  she  sipped  her  coffee 
daintily,  as  she  had  sipped  her  cordial.  Mr.  Jelly  bond 
also  smoked  and  sipped.  Little  remarks  about  nothing 
fell  from  them  at  intervals  ;  but  the  perfection  of  com- 
panionship had  set  in,  they  were  independent  of  talk. 
Mrs.  Kingconstance  wished  that  the  moment  might  last 
forever. 

The  witch,  meanwhile,  looked  on  as  a  cook  might  at 
some  process  of  confection  upon  which  her  credit  de- 
pended. 

Presently  Mrs.  Kingconstance  observed  that  she  had 
a  pack  of  cards  in  her  hand. 

Mr.  Jellybond  looked  at  his  watch. 

"  Alas  !  we  must  respect  the  enemy,"  he  said.  "  Shall 
we  ask  the  good  mother  to  speer  ?" 

"  Good  mother,  sit  down  and  tell  us  what  to  anticipate," 
Mrs.  Kingconstance  said,  graciously.  "  Tell  us  all  the 
good  there  is  in  store  for  us." 

"  Let  me  see  your  hands,  lady,"  the  woman  said. 

She  sat  down  beside  Mrs.  Kingconstance  and  looked 
into  one  hand  and  then  into  the  other,  comparing  them. 

"  You've  had  your  troubles,"  she  said,  oracularly, 
"  and  you've  made  them  ;  and  you'll  have  your  troubles 
again,  and  you'll  make  them.  That's  in  your  nature. 
You've  lost  by  death,  and  you'll  lose  by  death  again." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  1  hope  not !"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  ejacu- 
lated. 

"  You've  married  once,  and  you'll  marry  again." 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  looked  up  involuntarily.  Mr. 
Jellybond  Tinney  had  delicately  withdrawn. 

250 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Are  you  sure  ?"  she  whispered. 

"You'll  marry  again,"  the  woman  repeated,  impertur- 
bably  ;  "  not  for  money  this  time,  nor  for  position,  but 
for  comfort.  When  the  lover  comes  as  ses :  '  I've  noth- 
ing to  offer  you  but  happiness,  my  lady/  you'll  take  him, 
if  you're  wise  ;  you'll  leave  him,  if  you  must.  If  you 
take  him,  you'll  know  what  joy  is." 

*  Will  it  be  like  this  afternoon— that  cordial—?"  She 
clutched  at  her  throat  in  the  effort  to  express  herself. 
"  Like  young  love  ?" 

"  It  will  be  like  young  love,  because  love  is  always 
young,"  the  woman  answered  ;  "  and  it  will  be  like  this 
afternoon — only  it  will  last.  The  joy,  when  it  comes, 
will  come  to  stay  ;  and  the  more  you  take  him  in  the  face 
of  everybody  the  better  it  will  be.  But  if  you  leave 
him,  it  will  be  loss,  loss,  loss." 

"  Can't  you  tell  me  who  it  is  ?"  Mrs.  Kingconstance 
pleaded. 

"You'll  know  time  enough,  if  you  don't  know  already," 
the  old  woman  answered.  "  You'll  never  have  no  doubt 
in  yourself,  whatever  you  may  say,  from  the  moment 
you  think  of  him  and  marriage." 

"  Time  is  up,"  said  Mr.  Jelly  bond  from  the  doorway. 
u  1  must  hurry  my  lady  home." 

251 


CHAPTER     XXVII 

THAT  picnic  in  the  wood  was  the  beginning  of  a 
very  good  time  for  Mrs.  Kingconstance.     She 
would  not  have  called  it  a  good  time ;  she  would 
have  considered  the  expression — well,  not  quite 
nice,  you  know. 

She  was  as  romantic  as  a  schoolgirl — and  so  was  Mr. 
Jelly  bond  Tinney.  There  was  no  reason  why  they 
should  not  have  met  when  they  chose  in  the  ordinary 
way;  their  doing  so  would  have  excited  no  comment. 
Mr.  Jellybond  had  always  been  in  the  habit  of  dividing 
himself  up  pretty  equally  among  the  ladies  of  the  neigh- 
bqrhood.  If  he  were  seen  with  Mrs.  Kingconstance  one 
day,  he  was  seen  the  next  with  Mrs.  Normanton,  the 
next  with  some  one  else,  and  each  lady  was  so  satisfied 
with  his  attentions  that  she  lived  upon  the  recollection, 
to  the  exclusion  of  am^  other  idea  with  regard  to  him, 
until  they  met  again.  Consequently,  so  far  as  he  was 
concerned,  scandal  slumbered  and  slept.  His  safety 
lay  in  the  number  of  strings  he  had  to  his  bow. 

But  neither  he  nor  Mrs.  Kingconstance  would  have 
been  satisfied  now  with  anything  ordinary  in  the  way  of 
reunions.  There  is  no  thrill  like  the  thrill  of  romantic  ad- 
venture, especially  to  a  person  who  tastes  it  for  the  first 
time  late  in  life  after  an  absolutely  conventional  career ; 
and  the  one  experience  Mrs.  Kingconstance  had  had  of 
it  had  set  up  a  craving  for  more,  which  it  taxed  all  Mr. 
Jellybond  Tinney's  ingenuity  to  satisfy.  He  would 
not  allow  her  to  cross  the  confines  of  the  compromising, 

252 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

but  kept  her  hovering  on  the  borders,  where  she  delight- 
ed to  be,  his  intention  being  to  crown  an  honorable  career 
in  the  county,  and  safely  establish  himself  in  everybody's 
estimation  by  marrying  her  eventually — an  intention 
which  would  have  been  frustrated  by  the  slightest  pre- 
nuptial  scandal.  Cadenhouse's  influence  in  that  respect 
was  supreme  in  the  neighborhood.  Everybody  respect- 
ed the  appearance  of  propriety,  and  strove  to  preserve  it, 
whatever  happened. 

But  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  found  food  for  Mrs.  King- 
constance's  newly  developed  love  of  excitement  in  many 
innocent  little  games — into  which  cooking,  cordial,  ciga- 
rettes, and  coffee  came  as  regularly  as  afternoon  tea  into 
her  ordinary  life.  These,  indeed,  were  the  staple  of 
every  entertainment,  the  end  in  view,  whatever  other  in- 
tention formed  the  pretence  of  an  expedition.  There  had 
been  no  talk  of  marriage  between  them,  no  formal  pro- 
posal, no  serious  love-making.  A  little  dainty  tic-toy- 
ing was  enough  for  the  present — enough  for  Mr.  Jelly- 
bond,  because  there  was  business  in  his  attitude  towards 
Mrs.  Kingconstance  ;  and  for  her  because  the  romantic 
moments  of  later  life  are  necessarily  numbered.  These 
were  her  last,  perhaps  ;  and  she  strove  involuntarily  to 
prolong  them,  to  make  the  most  of  each  in  its  turn  with- 
out a  thought  of  the  next.  Besides,  another  considera- 
tion held  them  in  check. 

They  both  knew  that  the  cooking,  cordial,  cigarettes, 
and  coffee  would  have  quite  a  different  flavor  when  they 
could  be  had  without  difficulty  ;  and  that  when  there 
were  no  more  plans  to  be  made  the  aspect  of  all  things 
would  alter,  and  life  would  again  become  as  insipid  as 
exercise  on  a  wooden  horse.  Only  Mrs.  Kingconstance 
naturally  felt  this  more  than  Mr.  Jellybond,  because  he 
had  more  plans  than  matrimony  in  his  mind — matri- 
mony being  to  him  a  means  to  other  ends,  but  to  Mrs. 
Kingconstance  an  end  in  itself.  And  because  he  had 

253 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

other  ideas  in  his  mind,  it  was  Mr.  Jellybond  who  tired 
first  of  playing  at  romance,  and  determined  to  come  to 
the  point.  He  arrived  at  this  determination  one  morn- 
ing at  breakfast.  In  the  afternoon  he  dressed  for  the 
part. 

When  he  arrived  at  Dane  Court  he  found  Mrs.  King- 
constance  feeling  rather  low.  Her  sister-in-law  was  ill 
in  bed  with  influenza ;  Julia  had  gone  to  spend  the  day 
and  night  with  Meg  Normanton,  and  Mrs.  Kingcon- 
stance  proclaimed  herself  out  of  sorts. 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Jellybond,  "  you  are  not  out  of  sorts — 
pardon  me  for  contradicting  you.  You  are  looking 
splendid,  which  you  would  not  be  if  you  were  out  of  sorts. 
Oh,  health,  health  is  the  great  beautifier  !  I  congratu- 
late my  lady  on  her  radiant  health." 

"  Well,  there's  something  the  matter,"  said  Mrs.  King- 
constance,  beaming  upon  him. 

"  Of  course  there  is,"  he  agreed.  "  You're  bored ; 
that's  whai  you're  suffering  from — boredom.  You  re- 
quire distraction,  and  you  must  have  it.  Let  me  see. 
Ask  me  to  stay  to  dinner,  and  let  us  dine  together  in  the 
tent.  I  will  send  for  my  batterie,  and  there  shall  be  a 
dainty  dish  to  set  before  my  queen,  I  promise  you." 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  clapped  her  hands  affectedly. 

"  Delightful  !"  she  exclaimed.  "  But  we  ought  to 
have  a  third  person." 

"  Oh,  the  bother  of  the  chaperon  !"  he  sighed.  "  Well, 
ask  somebody  who  can't  come — the  vicar  and  Miss  Spice. 
She  had  a  dreadful  toothache,  and  he  has  taken  her  to 
town  to  see  the  dentist.  They  cannot  possibly  be  back 
in  time." 

"  Oh,  naughty !  naughty!"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  cried, 
with  elaborate  playfulness. 

"  Do  !"  he  urged. 

"  Shall  I  ?"  she  asked  of  all  things,  with  a  flutter  of 
her  hands,  palms  outward.  She  was  not  made  to  be 

254 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

volatile — her  figure  was  much  too  solid  for  that  pose  ; 
but  she  was  happily  unconscious  of  any  discrepancy 
between  her  appearance  and  her  manner.  People  usu- 
ally are,  unfortunately  for  observers  with  any  apprecia- 
tion of  aesthetic  values.  But  in  that  respect  Mr.  Jelly- 
bond  was  not  nice.  When  a  handsome,  rather  stout, 
elderly  woman  became  youthful  and  nighty  in  his  pres- 
ence, all  he  saw  was  the  compliment  to  himself. 

He  offered  her  his  arm  and  led  her  to  the  writing-table. 
She  made  some  further  pretence  of  hesitating,  then  wrote 
the  notes,  and  asked  him  to  ring. 

"  Thomas,"  she  said  to  the  footman,  "  dinner  in  the 
tent — for  four.  Tell  Benson,  and  take  these  notes  at 
once.  Send  also  to  the  Swiss  Cottage — " 

"  I'd  better  go  and  see  about  that  myself/'  Mr.  Jelly- 
bond  interrupted.  "  What  had  you  thought  of  for 
dinner  ?  But,  never  mind.  I'll  go  and  consult  with  the 
cook.  You  must  leave  everything  to  me.  Thomas,  I 
shall  want  your  help,  please." 

When  they  had  gone  Mrs.  Kingconstance  ran  up  to  a 
mirror,  patted  her  hair  with  both  hands,  and  smiled  at 
herself  complacently.  Then  she  began  to  think  about 
what  she  should  wear — amber  or  purple.  While  so  en- 
gaged her  eye  happened  to  light  on  a  letter  which  was 
lying  unopened  on  her  writing-table.  It  had  come  by 
the  morning  post,  but  she  had  not  troubled  about  it. 

She  knew  what  it  was — an  informal  sort  of  report, 
which  came  periodically  from  Montacute's  tutor.  She 
opened  it  now  and  glanced  at  it.  Hitherto  Montacute 
had  always  been  reported  as  well  and  doing  well.  This 
time  she  gathered  that  his  health  was  not  satisfactory, 
and  the  tutor  asked  if  there  were  anything  she  would 
like  to  have  done.  Montacute's  health  never  had  been 
satisfactory,  so  that  did  not  strike  her  as  unusual ;  and 
what  could  she  have  done  ?  What  did  the  man  mean  ? 
As  she  could  not  imagine,  she  put  the  letter  in  her  pocket, 

255 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

thinking  she  would  consult  Mr.  Jellybond  about  it — and 
not  worry. 

The  tent  was  a  new  departure  at  Dane  Court.  It  was 
Mr.  Jellybond's  idea,  and  he  had  ordered  it,  chosen  a 
lovely  site  for  it  in  the  grounds,  and  seen  to  its  decora- 
tion himself.  Outside  it  was  a  mere  ordinary  good, 
thick,  double-waterproof  tent ;  but  inside  it  was  ar- 
ranged with  all  the  silken  luxury  the  lady  loved.  The 
neighborhood  had  been  as  much  excited  about  that  tent 
as  if  it  had  been  an  item  added  to  the  progress  of  civil- 
ization ;  and  Mrs.  Kingconstance  had  given  many  de- 
lightful little  parties  there.  During  the  long  summer 
evenings  the  guests  were  invited  to  see  the  sunset.  Now 
the  attraction  was  the  autumn  moon.  But  it  was  the 
end  of  September,  and,  although  that  particular  day  was 
hot,  there  could  not  be  much  more  weather  suitable  for 
the  tent.  Mrs.  Kingconstance  sighed  at  the  reflection. 
It  was  sad  to  think  that  there  must  be  an  end  to  such 
a  summer. 

When  at  last  she  tripped  down-stairs,  dressed  for  the 
evening  in  purple  and  black,  and  not  looking  thirty, 
she  found  her  own  carriage  waiting  at  the  door,  and  was 
informed  that  the  coachman  had  gone,  according  to  or- 
ders, to  fetch  Miss  Spice  and  Mr.  Worringham,  but  nei- 
ther of  them  had  returned  from  town. 

"  Oh,  dear  !"  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance,  innocent!}^. 
"  Well,  we  won't  wait." 

She  stepped  into  the  carriage  and  was  driven  to  the 
tent.  There  she  found  all  things  ready  and  all  things 
exquisite.  The  weather,  the  view,  the  color  and  sheen  of 
silken  draperies,  the  easy  lounges  and  great  down  cush- 
ions, the  flowers,  the  tender  perfume  of  the  evening  air, 
the  rose-tinted  lamps  within,  the  delicate  lilac  twilight 
without — all  united  to  make  the  scene  a  dream  of  lux- 
urious ease  and  beauty.  Such  a  scene  would  have  ap- 
pealed to  Mrs.  Kingconstance's  pampered  senses  at  any 

256 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

time,  but  did  so  just  then  especially  because  of  the  haze 
of  romantic  feeling,  the  simmering  passion,  which  add- 
ed a  potent  charm  to  everything  and  rendered  her 
peculiarly  susceptible  to  all  that  influences  to  ecstasy. 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  handed  her  from  the  carriage. 

"  Where  are  the  other  dear  people  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Still  in  town — just  fancy  !"  she  answered,  inwardly 
priding  herself  on  a  strict  adherence  to  the  truth.  "  But 
never  mind ;  we'll  dine  all  the  same." 

The  dinner  began  with  a  hors  d'oeuwe  in  apotheosis — 
a  morsel  of  delight  which  Mrs.  Kingconstance  would  fain 
have  repeated,  but  Mr.  Jellybond  would  not  allow  her. 

"  Regret  that  there  is  not  more  of  it  is  the  attitude  of 
mind  which  proves  the  success  of  the  hors  d'oeume,"  he 
said  ;  "  but  it  does  not  do  to  repeat  the  pleasure.  Con- 
solation comes  with  the  consomme,  if  it  be  right ;  if  not, 
with  the  poisson." 

When  the  servants  were  out  of  ear-shot  Mrs.  King- 
constance said  to  him  gayly  : 

"  Don't  you  think  we're  a  loss  to  the  stage  ?  That 
last  little  farce,  when  I  descended  from  the  carriage, 
seemed  to  me  to  be  most  convincing." 

"  Oh,  entirely  convincing,"  he  agreed. 

The  good  lady's  whole  nature  seemed  to  have  changed 
under  the  influence  of  her  recent  emotional  experiences. 
No  one  would  have  suspected  that  she  was  capable  of 
any  sort  of  intrigue,  and  here  she  was  delighting  in  it — 
so  long  as  no  actual  untruth  was  told  ;  delighting  in  the 
success  of  petty  deceits,  of  shifts  and  contrivances,  which 
not  so  very  long  before  she  would  have  been  the  first  to 
stigmatize  as  contemptible.  When  passion  is  added  to 
luxurious  habits  weak  people  are  apt  to  be  demoralized, 
and  Mrs.  Kingconstance  was  weak.  It  was  Mr.  Jelly- 
bond  Tinney's  caution,  and  not  her  own  prudence,  that 
had  kept  her  within  bounds  at  all. 

She  made  a  lovely  bit  of  color  reclining  there  on  her 
R  257 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

satin  cushions,  with  her  milk-white  skin,  the  brilliant 
carmine  of  her  cheeks  and  lips,  her  glossy  black  hair, 
and  her  purple  draperies.  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney,  who 
had  always  admired  her,  found  himself  gazing  at  her 
now  in  surprise  and  curiosity.  She  seemed  to  have  en- 
tered upon  a  new  phase  of  beauty — a  firmer  phase.  The 
flabbiness  of  body  and  mind  induced  by  much  lolling, 
carriage  exercise,  high  living,  and  profound  self-con- 
tent had  disappeared  in  a  burst  of  energy — one  of  those 
flashes  of  youth  which  startle  us  on  occasion  in  a  friend 
whom  we  have  never  thought  of  as  young.  It  is  true 
that  she  lolled  on  her  great  down  cushions  now,  but 
there  was  an  alertness  in  her  glance  which  belied  her 
attitude.  She  looked  as  if  on  the  slightest  provocation 
she  could  have  straightened  herself  and  shown  forceful- 
ness  both  of  character  and  constitution. 

During  dinner  the  conversation  ran  on  the  various 
dishes  principally,  a  subject  of  the  keenest  interest.  The 
"  slight  refection  "  consisted  of  many  courses  that  night, 
and  Mrs.  Kingconstance  took  a  morsel  of  each,  and 
loved  that  morsel  as  she  ate  it ;  and,  while  waiting  for 
the  next  course,  discussed  its  merits  as  a  morsel  with 
more  intelligence  than  she  was  wont  to  bring  to  the  dis- 
cussion of  any  other  matter.  Yet  very  little  was  said. 
When  the  senses  are  satisfied  the  mind  has  but  scant 
appeal.  Men  give  themselves  up  to  such  moments  more 
readily  than  women  do,  but  these  two  were  quite  in  ac- 
cord. The  servants  moved  like  shadows  about  them ; 
they  paid  no  heed  to  their  presence.  The  twilight  with- 
out deepened  to  darkness  ;  then  came  the  moon,  unseen 
itself,  but  showing  the  hills,  the  sky,  the  quiet  woods 
in  an  enchanted  haze,  an  ecstasy  of  silvery  light.  They 
watched  the  gathering  splendor,  the  beautiful  transfor- 
mation scene,  in  silence — and  were  reminded  of  some- 
thing once  seen  in  an  opera,  the  name  of  which  they 
could  not  recollect.  But  what  did  it  matter  ? 

258 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

The  dessert  was  set ;  the  moment  for  the  cordial  had 
come.  They  sipped  it  in  solemn  silence.  Mrs.  King- 
constance  would  not  have  spoiled  its  influence  for  a  mo- 
ment by  a  word.  She  held  her  own  being  in  suspense  so 
as  to  lose  no  movement  of  the  liquid  delight  as  it  spread 
insidiously,  taking  gradual  possession  of  every  nerve 
in  her  body,  and  suffusing  her  at  the  same  time  with  a 
strange,  warm  glow,  which  was  succeeded  by  a  sensa- 
tion of  bliss,  a  dreamy  state,  a  kind  of  stupor,  although 
full  consciousness  was  never  suspended. 

Whatever  the  potent  mixture  was  (and  Mr.  Jellybond 
never  would  tell  her),  there  was  no  baneful  reaction  after 
it.  It  played  crescendo  upon  the  emotions  and  then 
evaporated,  leaving  only  a  certain  languor  which  yield- 
ed to  strong  coffee,  and  such  a  recollection  of  its  effect 
as  should  make  it  to  be  greatly  desired  forevermore. 

When  the  coffee  was  served,  the  cigarettes  lighted, 
and  the  servants  had  retired,  Mr.  Jellybond  determined 
to  propose.  But  while  he  waited  he  experienced  a  curi- 
ous flood  of  recollection.  His  thoughts  strayed  to  his 
first  arrival  in  the  neighborhood,  his  first  meeting  with 
Miss  Spice,  and  to  all  that  was  important  in  their  subse- 
quent acquaintance.  Poor  little  Ally  !  Well,  she  owed 
him  some  happy  days.  He  thought  of  his  first  visit  to 
Mrs.  Normanton,  and  with  the  recollection  there  came  the 
consciousness  of  the  balmy  odor  of  pine-trees  with  the 
sun  upon  them,  and  of  the  cawing  of  rooks  ;  the  happy 
accompaniment  to  that  impromtu  tea  which  had  been 
such  a  success.  He  thought  of  Fanny  Sturdy,  of  Mrs. 
Japp,  and  of  Florence — particularly  of  Florence.  There 
came  to  him  also  a  vision  of  the  long  evenings  alone, 
those  delicious  evenings  of  ample  leisure,  undisturbed  by 
any  ache,  when  he  first  discovered  fiction,  and,  yielding 
to  the  wondrous  spell,  was  borne  into  hitherto  unsus- 
pected realms  of  thought  and  emotion,  was  made  ac- 
quainted with  hitherto  unsuspected  varieties  of  man- 

259 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

kind,  with  strange  phases  of  life,  curious  complexities  of 
character,  of  motives,  of  alternating  moods,  and  endless 
other  subtleties  of  being.  Having  seen  enough  in  his 
own  career  to  enable  him  to  recognize  the  truth,  the  in- 
terest, and  the  importance  of  a  good  delineation,  he  had 
become  a  most  appreciative  reader.  He  delighted  in 
romantic  incident ;  but  analytical  work  fascinated  him 
even  more.  When  the  two  were  combined,  he  revelled. 
From  mere  dramatic  scenes  he  wrent  empty  away,  be- 
cause he  was  not  content  only  to  see  the  characters  play 
their  parts ;  he  wanted  also  to  see  the  working  of  the 
machinery  that  moved  them. 

Certainly  his  uneventful  life  in  Danehurst  had  been 
wonderfully  rich  in  eccentric  emotions.  Talk  of  the  joy 
of  eventful  living  !  Who  that  has  known  both  would 
compare  events  of  action  with  events  of  feeling  ?  Simple 
living  and  complex  feeling — that  is  bliss.  And  could 
he  improve  upon  the  experiences  of  his  later  life  by  any 
change  ?  The  question  rose  involuntarily.  He  had 
thought  his  mind  fully  made  up ;  but —  He  looked  at 
Mrs.  Kingconstance.  Half  turned  from  the  table,  she 
reclined  upon  her  pillows.  One  arm  rested  upon  the 
back  of  the  couch.  She  held  her  cigarette  daintily  be- 
tween her  two  fingers.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the 
moonlit  distance.  The  animation  of  the  earlier  part  of 
the  evening  had  gone.  She  seemed  to  have  sunk  into 
sensuous  apathy,  and  was  looking  as  beautiful  and  as 
stupid  as  an  odalisque. 

Should  he  propose  ? 

His  eyes  searched  the  floor  as  if  for  an  answer ;  and  in 
their  search  they  lighted  upon  a  letter.  He  picked  it  up. 

"  My  lady  has  dropped  a  letter,"  he  said,  holding  it  out. 

She  looked  at  it  languidly. 

"  It  is  probably  the  one  1  had  to-day  about  Monta- 
cute,"  she  remarked.  "  1  brought  it  down  to  show  you. 
1  wish  you  would  read  it.  1  didn't  half  take  it  in." 

260 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

She  spoke  indifferently,  but  was  vexed  at  the  interrup- 
tion which  was  spoiling  her  mood. 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  adjusted  his  gold-rimmed  pince- 
nez,  read  the  letter  with  the  careful  attention  of  a  busi- 
ness man,  replaced  it  in  its  envelope,  and  looked  at 
Mrs.  Kingconstance  with  pursed-up  lips. 

"  Well  ?"  she  demanded. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  doing  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Doing  ?"  she  echoed,  vaguely. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied.  "The  boy  is  ill,  evidently  —  at 
least,  that  is  what  1  gather.  They  are  anxious  about 
him,  but  do  not  wish  to  alarm  you." 

"  Let  me  see  the  letter  again,"  she  said,  somewhat  im- 
patiently. 

When  she  had  read  it  she  looked  inquiringly  at  Mr. 
Jellybond. 

"  What  do  you  suggest  ?"  she  asked. 

"  1  think  some  one  should  go  and  see  how  he  is  ex- 
actly. It  may  be  nothing  ;  it  may  be  serious." 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  was  silent.  There  was  no  lack 
of  kindliness  in  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney,  and  her  hesita- 
tion caused  him  an  uncomfortable  qualm.  When  birds 
want  to  build  a  new  nest  they  drive  their  old  brood  away. 
Mrs.  Kingconstance  was  in  somewhat  the  same  mood, 
and  she  was  inclined  to  resent  any  attempt  to  make  her 
anxious  about  the  children. 

"  Would  you  trust  me  to  go  ?"  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney 
ventured,  after  a  pause. 

She  considered.  What  should  she  do  with  herself 
while  he  was  away  ? 

"  Is  there  really  any  need  for  any  one  to  go  ?"  she 
asked.  "  1  can  write,  you  know." 

"  1  think  it  would  be  better  for  some  one  to  go,"  he 
answered,  decidedly.  "  I'll  go  to-morrow." 

"Oh,  dear!"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  exclaimed;  "why 
will  people  get  ill?  This  has  quite  spoiled  our  evening." 

261 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Poor,  dear  lady  !"  he  said. 

An  acute  person  would  have  perceived  that  his  sym- 
pathy was  perfunctory.  Mrs.  Kingconstance  accepted 
it  as  serious,  and  was  mollified. 

"  Don't  go  to-morrow,  at  all  events,  please,"  she  plead- 
ed, after  a  little  reflection.  "  Let  me  write  first  and  see 
what  they  say.  And  1  should  like  to  consult  Mr.  Wor- 
ringham.  1  will  send  for  him  when  they  answer  my 
letter,  and  for  you  too,  if  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  come." 

Mr.  Jellybond  gave  her  a  curious  look.  He  did  not 
appreciate  the  fact  that  it  was  on  his  account  that  the 
maternal  instinct  was  at  fault  for  once.  At  the  moment 
he  liked  her  less  than  any  of  his  ladies,  and  the  idea  of 
proposing  that  night  melted  from  his  mind. 

"  As  you  wish,"  he  said,  coldly.  "  Your  mother's 
heart  should  be  the  best  guide  at  such  a  time." 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance,  taking  him  lit- 
erally, as  usual.  "  You  can  trust  a  mother's  intuition." 

If  happiness  be  worth  having,  the  people  to  be  envied 
are  the  comfortably  stupid ;  no  amount  of  intelligence 
would  purchase  the  peace  of  mind  which  is  theirs.  Think 
what  it  must  be  to  have  no  doubt  of  yourself,  of  the  value 
of  your  own  opinion,  nor  of  the  satisfaction  you  give  to 
your  Maker!  When  Mrs.  Kingconstance  said  her  pray- 
ers that  night  she  not  only  thanked  God  for  all  the  mer- 
cies he  had  vouchsafed  to  her,  but  for  those  which  He 
had  in  store.  She  confided  herself  and  her  children  with 
confidence  to  the  care  of  Heaven,  and  also  told  Heaven 
what  to  do  for  them,  that  there  might  be  no  mistake. 
Then  she  slept  tranquilly  and  dreamed  of  herself  in  an 
atmosphere  of  ecstasy  of  the  density  of  cigarette  smoke, 
with  somebody's  arm  about  her. 

262 


CHAPTER     XXVIII 

IT  was  some  days  before  Mrs.  Kingconstance  sum- 
moned Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  to  consult  with  Mr. 
Worringham  about  Montacute's  health.  Miss 
Kingconstance,  convalescent  from  influenza,  was 
present  at  the  interview,  lying  on  a  sofa,  in  a  state  of 
suppressed  irritation.  She  had  been  very  queer  for  some 
time. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you,"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  began,  ad- 
dressing Mr.  Worringham.  "  I  am  anxious  about  Mon- 
tacute — his  health,  you  know.  I  had  rather  an  alarm- 
ing letter  the  other  day;  but  you  know  he  has  never 
been  strong  ;  so  I  wrote  again  for  more  information, 
and  this  is  the  reply.  I  wish  you  would  read  it,  and  tell 
me  what  you  think.  It  is  all  so  vague,  you  see." 

She  watched  Mr.  Worringham  while  he  read,  and  when 
he  had  finished  she  repeated  : 

"  It  is  all  so  vague,  you  see.  It  is  delightful  to  have 
the  children  at  home,  of  course  "  (as  she  spoke,  she  dis- 
tinctly perceived  that,  with  their  sharp  eyes  about,  there 
could  be  no  more  romantic  philanderings  with  Mr.  Jelly- 
bond  Tinney),  "  but  a  mother  must  think  more  of  what 
is  good  for  her  children  than  of  what  is  agreeable  to  her- 
self. Now  Cute  has  improved  very  much  since  he  left 
home.  He  is  inches  taller  and  much  more  manly — isn't 
he,  Mr.  Jellybond  ?  You  noticed  a  great  difference  last 
holidays.  And  he  enjoys  his  life  ;  so  I  would  not  like 
to  do  anything  to  unsettle  him — unless,  of  course,  you 
consider  it  absolutely  necessary.  Boys  at  school  are  so 

363 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

very  easily  unsettled,  although,  of  course,  Montacute  is 
not  at  school  exactly — only  with  a  tutor,  you  know;  but 
it  amounts  to  the  same  thing,  because  there  are  other 
boys.  What  do  you  think,  Mr.  Worringham  ?" 

"  Essentially,"  he  said.     "  Yes,  essentially." 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

"  It  amounts  to  the  same  thing,  you  know,"  he  ex- 
plained. 

"  That  doesn't  get  us  much  further,"  Miss  Kingcon- 
stance snapped. 

"  It  was  about  unsettling  him,  I  was  thinking,"  Mrs. 
Kingconstance  hastily  put  in,  anxious  to  prevent  a 
breach  of  the  peace.  "  I  am  afraid  to  be  too  precipitate." 

"  Naturally,"  said  Mr.  Worringham.  "  It  is  a  mistake 
to  be  too  precipitate." 

"  Boys  at  school  are  so  very  easily  unsettled,"  she 
suggested. 

"  That's  it,  dear  lady — yes,"  he  agreed,  "  that's  it  ex- 
actly. Why,  when  I  was  at  school  I  experienced  that 
more  than  once  myself.  On  one  occasion,  in  particular 
— how  well  I  remember  it  ! — my  mother  wrote  to  tell  me 
she  was  going  to  send  me  a  hamper,  and — would  you 
believe  it  ? — I  could  do  nothing  after  I  heard  of  that  ham- 
per but  wonder  what  would  be  in  it.  I  never  learned  a 
lesson  that  week — I  didn't,  indeed.  It  interfered  with  my 
prayers  even.  When  I  tried  to  learn  the  multiplication 
table  it  looked  like  a  row  of  good  things  which  resolved 
themselves  into  a  sum  to  be  divided  by  eight — exactly 
the  number  of  boys  in  my  dormitory.  And  I  was  so  full 
of  ideas  on  the  subject  that  when  my  master  asked  me 
one  morning  which  were  the  vowels,  instead  of  answer- 
ing '  a,  e,  i,  o,  u,  and  sometimes  w  and  y,'  I  said  '  goose, 
turkey,  tongue,  jam,  and  cake,  and  sometimes  fruit  and 
wine.'  I  did,  indeed.  The  master  said, '  Impertinence,' 
and  thrashed  me  for  it.  But  it  wasn't  impertinence,  you 
know.  It  just  showed  what  I  was  thinking  about,  don't 

264 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

you  know — that  was  all.  But  how  one's  ideas  do  change, 
to  be  sure  !  Why,  the  prospect  of  a  hamper  nowadays 
would  not  distract  me  for  a  moment.  So  you  see,  dear 
lady—" 

But  here  the  good  gentleman  was  obliged  to  pause. 
That  last  little  stream  of  reflection  dashing  into  the 
steadier  current  of  his  reminiscences  had  put  him  out. 
He  made  an  effort  to  find  the  point  which  he  had  intend- 
ed the  anecdote  to  illustrate,  but  failed,  and  could  only 
beam  round  on  them  all  pleasantly  by  way  of  conclusion. 

Miss  Kingconstance  looked  up  at  the  ceiling  with  an 
exclamation  of  impatience.  Mrs.  Kingconstance  took 
her  own  view  of  the  matter. 

"  Then  you  agree  with  me  that  I  had  better  not  do  any- 
thing to  unsettle  him  ?"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  quite,"  he  replied. 

"  But  the  question  is,"  said  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney, 
speaking  for  the  first  time,  "  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

Miss  Kingconstance  lowered  her  eyes  and  looked  at 
him  shrewdly. 

"Oh,  well,  I  thought — "  Mrs.  Kingconstance  began. 
"  Cute  is  very  studious,  you  know.  It  is  more  than  prob- 
able he  has  overworked  himself ;  in  which  case  rest  and 
a  little  change — to  the  seaside,  perhaps,  for  a  week  or 
two—" 

"  Rest  and  a  little  fiddlestick,"  said  Miss  Kingcon- 
stance. "  Bring  him  home  at  once,  and  have  the  best 
advice  that  can  be  got  for  him.  Cute's  health  is  not  a 
thing  to  be  trifled  with." 

"  I  am  entirely  of  your  opinion,"  said  Mr.  Jellybond. 

"  For  once  1"  she  said.  "  Well,  I'm  glad  of  it  on  this 
occasion.  *  I  saw  that  you  had  arrived  with  your  mind 
made  up.  I  notice  that  you  are  naturally  impatient  of 
shilly-shally,  in  spite  of  your  drawl.  You  were  not  born 
with  that  drawl,  I  suspect.  At  all  events  there  is  no 
drawl  in  your  character." 

265 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

*  There  used  not  to  be/'  he  said,  sincerely ;  "  but  some- 
how I  am  not  quite  the  man  I  was." 

"  You've  been  letting  yourself  go/'  she  said.  "  You're 
getting  flabby." 

He  rested  his  chin  on  the  top  of  his  walking-stick,  and 
perused  the  carpet. 

"  Oh,  dear !"  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance.  "  Please  don't 
quarrel  when  I  am  in  such  a  difficulty." 

"  There  is  no  difficulty,"  Miss  Kingconstance  replied. 
"  Montacute  is  ill  and  must  be  brought  home  at  once. 
I  am  ill,  so  I  can't  go  and  fetch  him.  You  are  not  a  wom- 
an of  action.  We  must  rely  on  Mr.  Jeltybond." 

"  Mr.  Jelly  bond  is  to  be  relied  upon,"  he  answered  for 
himself.  "  He  has  made  his  arrangements  and  is  ready 
to  depart  by  the  first  train  in  the  morning." 

"  But  we've  not  discussed  the  matter  at  all,"  said  Mrs. 
Kingconstance,  peevishly.  "  You  are  going  too  fast, 
you  two.  Mr.  Worringham,  what  do  you  think  ?" 

She  spoke  so  sharply  that  the  old  vicar  sat  up. 

"  I — er — think  so,  too,"  he  said. 

"  You  think  they're  going  too  fast  ?" 

"  Er — no,  on  this  occasion  I  think  the  faster  the  bet- 
ter." 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  yielded  with  an  ill  grace.  Mr. 
Jelly  bond  was  the  last  to  go.  She  wished  him  to  spend 
the  evening  with  her,  but  he  firmly  refused. 

"An  important  matter  requires  my  attention  in  an- 
other direction,"  he  said.  "  A  duty,  you  may  be  sure — 
or  I  could  not  resist  the  temptation." 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  smiled,  but  there  was  a  chill  at 
her  heart.  She  felt  instinctively  that  the  first  note  of 
change  had  struck,  and  found  herself  full  of  vague  ap- 
prehension. 

"  1  should  like  to  go  to  Thorne  Lodge,"  she  whispered. 

"  That  is  where  1  am  going,"  he  answered,  looking 
into  her  eyes  significantly. 

266 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Then  1  am  content  to  let  you  go/'  she  said,  holding 
out  both  hands  to  him. 

He  raised  them  to  his  lips,  held  them  an  instant, 
gently  restored  them  to  her,  and  was  gone. 

It  was  a  most  effective  exit.  Mrs.  Kingconstance 
stood  still  for  some  seconds  listening  to  his  receding 
footsteps  ;  then  she  clasped  her  hands  to  her  heart, 
sighed,  glanced  at  herself  in  a  mirror,  and  went  off  to 
dress  for  dinner. 

That  evening  she  took  a  little  dry  champagne  to 
keep  her  up. 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  went  his  way  full  of  thought. 
He  felt  no  chill  of  apprehension,  such  as  Mrs.  Kingcon- 
stance suffered,  nevertheless  he  was  not  quite  himself. 
He  had  the  sensation  which  comes  when  storms  are 
brewing — a  sense  of  pause,  of  oppression,  of  expecta- 
tion, of  something  solemn  pending. 

The  moon  shone  brightly  down  upon  him  as  he 
emerged  from  the  avenue.  He  crossed  the  high-road 
and  climbed  the  hill,  making  direct  for  Thorne  Lodge  by 
the  shortest  cut.  The  hill  was  high  and  steep,  and,  on 
the  brow  of  it,  before  entering  the  forest,  he  paused  to 
take  breath.  The  scene  was  familiar  enough  to  him ; 
but  that  night  he  discovered  something  strange  in  the 
aspect  of  the  most  familiar  things. 

Beneath  him,  on  the  right,  stood  Dane  Court,  the 
whole  front  of  the  house,  with  lights  in  many  of  the  win- 
dows, distinctly  visible.  Much  farther  away,  on  the  left, 
across  the  hollow — seen  above  a  dark,  irregular  line  of 
trees,  and  not  so  much  seen  as  imagined  by  one  who 
knew  the  lie  of  it  well — the  moonlight  fell  on  the  high, 
old  chimneys,  the  pointed  gables,  and  sloping  roofs  of 
the  all  but  deserted  mansion  of  Wyldeholme.  Why  was 
it  left  silent  and  solitary,  so  fine  a  place,  and  why  is  it 
that  always  in  this  world  some  one  despises  what  an- 
other is  dying  to  have  ?  To  be  an  English  landed  gentle- 

267 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

man,  to  have  wealth  and  position  and  power,  to  feel  that 
wherever  you  went  you  were  wanted  and  respected,  not 
just  tolerated,  and  noticed  or  neglected  according  to  the 
convenience  of  the  moment — to  be  born  to  these  things 
must  be  grand  ;  but  to  rise  to  them,  to  feel  the  pride  and 
privilege  of  them  after  having  experienced  all  the  galling 
contrast  of  life  in  a  lower  grade,  must  be  glory.  So 
mused  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney,  and  wondered  at  himself. 

It  was  not  so  very  long  since  the  idea  of  living  as  he 
was  living  then,  master  of  the  Swiss  Cottage  and  moving 
in  good  society,  would  have  appeared  the  idlest  of  day- 
dreams to  him  ;  yet  here  he  stood  in  the  moonlight, 
feeling  a  fine  contempt  for  his  present  position,  as  if  the 
step  which  should  raise  him  to  a  higher  had  been  taken, 
as  long  as  contemplated,  and  his  footing  were  already 
secure. 

There  must  have  been  but  a  half-developed  soul  in  the 
man  in  whom  that  lovely  scene  of  hill  and  dale  and 
wood  and  water,  here  distinct  in  the  moonlight,  there 
shrouded  in  shadow,  could  arouse  no  sublime  emotion — 
who  could  contemplate  the  mystery  of  the  beauty  of  the 
heavens  and  the  earth  unmoved  by  nobler  thoughts 
than  those  which  sprang  from  the  sordid  desire  of  self- 
aggrandisement,  the  miserable  hope  of  petty  renown. 
But  what  did  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  care  for  the  size  of 
his  soul  or  the  quality  of  his  ambition  so  long  as  he 
succeeded  ?  If  he  had  thought  of  either  it  would  prob- 
ably have  been  to  congratulate  himself  upon  having 
gained  in  comfort  what  he  had  lost  in  nobility  before 
that  scene;  he  would  have  rejoiced  to  feel  his  spirits  rise 
high  above  the  melancholy  that  must  have  laid  hold  of 
him  had  he  been  weak  enough  to  trouble  about  the  lot  of 
mankind  in  general  at  that  moment,  instead  of  turning 
his  attention  towards  the  pleasant  future  which  was 
probably  in  store  for  himself  in  particular. 

Following  swift  upon  the  desire  to  possess  came  the 

268 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

assurance  in  himself  that  he  had  only  to  ask  and  have, 
and  with  the  assurance  his  spirits  went  up  ;  so  that, 
when  at  last  he  plunged  into  the  wood,  considering  his 
age  and  size,  his  step  was  as  buoyant  as  his  hopes  were 
high.  He  even  frivolled  a  little.  As  he  turned  off  the 
more  frequented  way  onto  the  narrow  path  which  led  to 
Thorne  Lodge,  and  passed  beneath  the  great  forest  trees, 
the  crisp  brown  leaves  came  showering  down  upon  him 
and  made  a  merry  crackling  under  his  feet.  He  began 
to  kick  them  about.  He  walked  through  deep  drifts  of 
them  as  children  do.  He  skipped  from  one  drift  to  an- 
other with  singular  agility,  and,  altogether  gravely, 
there  alone  in  the  moonlight,  he  shamed  the  dignity  of 
his  ponderous  person  by  the  lightness  of  his  conduct. 

About  Thorne  Lodge  all  was  orderly.  From  one 
chimney  at  the  end  of  the  house  the  smoke  curled  up- 
ward ;  but  that  was  the  only  sign  of  life  about  the 
place.  There  were  no  lights  in  the  windows,  and  all 
was  so  still  that  the  babble  of  an  unseen  brook  close 
by  smote  upon  the  ear  obtrusively. 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  opened  the  door  and  walked  in. 

"  Good  mother,"  he  said. 

"  Good  mother  "  was  sitting  on  the  settle  with  her  back 
to  the  lattice  window.  In  her  hands,  which  rested  on 
the  round  table  in  front  of  her,  she  clasped  a  pack  of 
cards.  The  moonlight,  streaming  down  upon  her 
through  quivering  branches  of  woodbine  berries  and 
diamond  panes,  cast  strange  shadows  upon  the  floor. 

"  1  know'd  you'd  come,"  was  her  salutation.  "  I'll 
light  up  now." 

"  The  prophetic  spirit  has  not  played  you  false,"  he 
said.  "  But  you  might  have  lighted  up  a  little  sooner. 
It  feels  eerie  with  all  this  oak  about." 

*  If  it  weren't  for  the  eerieness  there'd  be  no  prophetic 
spirit,"  she  said.  "  It's  mightily  increased  since  you  got 
that  oak.  How  are  you  ?" 

269 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  My  mind  is  at  ease/'  he  replied.  "  My  conscience  is 
serene  as  the  quiet  autumn  eve  without.  What  a  thing 
it  is  to  have  a  good  conscience  and  to  be  content  !  1 
have  the  one  ;  1  am  the  other.  And  yet  1  fain  would 
know." 

"  Drop  it,  Tinney,"  she  said.     "  No  fooling  here." 

She  put  the  lamp  on  the  table,  sat  down,  and  began 
to  shuffle  the  cards  in  a  business-like  way. 

He  took  the  seat  opposite  to  her. 

"  Hev'  you  popped  the  question  yet  ?"  she  demanded, 
abruptly,  raising  her  keen  eyes  for  a  moment  and  peer- 
ing at  him  from  under  her  heavy  eyebrows.  She  handed 
him  the  cards  as  she  spoke.  He  shuffled  them  well 
without  looking  at  them,  laid  the  pack  face  downward 
on  the  table,  cut  it  in  halves,  cut  each  half  once  to  right 
and  left,  then  pushed  the  four  little  packs  towards  her. 
She  gathered  them  up. 

"  The  time  has  not  yet  come,"  he  said,  slowly,  in  an- 
swer to  her  question. 

"  1  thought  it  might  be  that,"  she  muttered,  as  she  laid 
out  the  cards  in  rows  before  her  and  proceeded  to  study 
the  combinations,  "  for  there's  a  Change  coming,"  she 
read  from  the  cards,  touching  three  or  four  with  the 
points  of  her  fingers  as  she  made  each  separate  an- 
nouncement— "  there's  a  Change  coming  which  You — 
here — are  to  Bring  About ;  and  it  will  be  a  Change  for 
the  Better — see  ? — or  I'm  much  mistaken.  But  there's 
Trouble,  too  —  Interference  it  looks  like  —  and  there's 
Sickness — it's  at  a  Distance,  though,  and  it's  this  Fair 
Man  ;  but  whether  it's  a  distance  of  Time  or  of  Place  I 
can't  make  out.  Here,  shuffle  and  cut  again,  and  we'll 
try  for  Distance." 

"  No  need,"  he  said,  pushing  the  cards  away  from  him. 
"  1  know  all  about  it.  The  boy  is  ill  and  I'm  going  to 
fetch  him  home." 

The  woman  seized  the  cards  excitedly. 

270 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  He's  going  to  die/'  she  said,  showing  the  ace  of 
spades  wrong  side  up  ;  "  and  if  he  dies — 

"  The  more's  the  pity,  poor  little  chap,"  said  Mr.  Jel- 
lybond  Tinney. 

The  woman  looked  at  him  sharply. 

"  Are  you  fooling  again  ?"  she  demanded. 

"  No,  I'm  in  earnest  for  once/'  he  replied.  "  1  say  it's 
a  pity.  There's  that  little  chap  with  everything  in  the 
world  worth  having  and  no  power  to  enjoy  it — any  of  it." 

"  1  grant  you  that,"  she  said.  "  But  if  anything  hap- 
pens to  him,  so  much  the  better  for  you." 

He  gathered  up  the  cards  and  shuffled  them  medi- 
tatively. 

"  Well,  there's  one  thing  you  may  be  sure  of,"  he  said, 
after  a  pause,  "  and  that  is  that  nothing  will  happen  to 
him  if  1  can  help  it.  I'm  not  a  model,  1  know,  but  1 
recognize  that  there's  right  and  there's  wrong,  there's 
good  and  there's  evil,  there's  crooked  and  there's 
straight  ;  and  1  mean  to  go  straight.  1  may  be  a  weak 
fool,  but  that's  my  idea." 

"  So  you've  always  professed,"  she  said,  significantly. 

"  Yes,"  he  rejoined  ;  "and  when  1  lived  up  to  it  1  did 
well  for  myself.  It's  when  1  fall  away  from  that  idea 
that  1  make  mistakes." 

"  You're  a  queer  shot,  Tinney,"  she  remarked,  look- 
ing gratified,  as  though  this  eccentricity  of  his  redound- 
ed to  her  credit. 

She  took  the  cards  from  him  and  began  to  lay  them 
out  in  fours.  He  watched  her  with  interest.  When  the 
whole  pack  was  laid  she  studied  the  combinations,  pick- 
ing them  out  as  before  with  the  points  of  her  fingers. 

"  The  game  is  in  your  own  hands,"  she  announced, 
with  a  grim  smile. 

"  It  always  has  been,"  he  interjected. 

His  eyes  followed  her  fingers  as  they  coupled  the 
cards  and  separated  them  into  groups. 

271 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  The  game  will  be  in  your  own  hands/'  she  repeated. 
"  The  boy  will  die  sure  enough — see,  here's  his  death. 
And  here  are  you." 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  leaned  over  to  look  at  the  com- 
bination, and  saw  something  in  it  which  visibly  made 
him  pause.  Without  changing  his  attitude  he  raised 
his  eyes  to  the  old  woman's  face,  and  they  gazed  at 
each  other  for  a  tragic  interval. 

"  You  can't  help  it,  Tinney, "she  said,  at  last,  a  ring  of 
compassion  in  her  usually  hard  voice.  "  What's  on  the 
cards  is  not  of  your  putting.  Man  is  not  mightier  than 
fate.  That  boy's  death  lies  at  your  door." 

*  It  shall  not  lie  at  my  door,  so  help  me  !"  the  big  man 
swore.  "A  man  may  master  his  fate  when  he  knows 
what  to  fear.  I'll  do  my  duty  by  the  boy.  I've  said  it, 
once  for  all." 

He  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair  as  he  spoke.  All 
his  blandness  and  largeness  and  air  of  deliberation 
had  gone  out.  One  might  have  mistaken  him  for  his 
own  brother  in  a  state  of  distress. 

"  Soft  heart  and  hard  head  are  always  at  war,"  said 
the  woman.  "  But  never  mind,  Tinney.  There's  a 
good  time  coming — at  least — " 

She  was  looking  at  the  cards  again,  and  as  she  spoke 
she  changed  countenance.  His  own  attention  was  quick- 
ened, and  his  mood  of  the  moment  before  was  blotted 
out  by  a  new  interest. 

"At  least,  there's  something  coming  that  we  didn't  ex- 
pect," she  pursued  in  a  low  voice.  "  Look  here.  Here's 
another  Woman  coming,  here's  your  Thoughts  set  upon 
her,  and  here's  Danger.  Here's  all  you  want  for  the 
asking,  and  there  you  are  " — she  spoke  with  infinite 
disgust — "  there  you  are,  turning  your  back  on  it  all  for 
the  sake  of  this  Strange  Woman." 

Once  more  he  leaned  over  and  looked  at  the  cards, 
and  as  he  did  so  he  seemed  to  expand  again  into 

272 


'THAT   BOYS   DEATH  LIES   AT  YOUR   DOOR' 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

his  usual  self  and  become  as  a  fresh  fig  to  a  dried 
one. 

"  Well,  good  mother,"  he  said,  coolly,  "  if  it's  on  the 
cards,  what  am  /  to  do  ?  Fate  is  fate,  as  you  say.  The  , 
love  of  woman  is  not  to  be  had  in  heaven.  Clearly  we 
were  meant  to  make  the  most  of  it  here  below.  On  that 
score  the  gods  have  nothing  to  reproach  me  with.  I've 
always  taken  all  the  good  things  sent  me  in  the  shape 
of  lovely  woman,  and  praised  and  blessed  them  for  it. 
You  tell  me  I've  been  weak  that  way.  Well,  well  !  1 
dare  say  you're  right ;  but  what  am  1  to  do  ?  1  sup- 
pose an  incorrigible  ass  is  always — er — an  ass  that  is 
incorrigible." 

For  answer  "  good  mother  "  gathered  up  the  cards 
and  flung  them  in  his  face.  They  showered  about  him, 
and  slid  and  trickled  off  him  onto  the  floor — all  but  one 
which  had  stuck  in  his  waistcoat.  He  took  it  out  and 
looked  at  it.  It  was  the  ten  of  hearts. 

"  Large  family  and  happy  wedded  life,"  he  said,  com- 
plaisantly.  "  1  accept  the  omen.  Every  other  prognos- 
tication 1  cancel." 

"  Hush,  Tinney  !"  said  the  woman,  glancing  about  her 
nervously. 

"  The  powers  of  darkness  be  blowed  !"  he  said,  jaun- 
tily. "1  kiss  my  hand  to  them.  Large  family  and 
happy  wedded  life — that  is  the  omen.  Bring  the  bottles 
and  let  us  lay  the  spirits." 

The  woman's  irritation  had  passed  in  the  act  of  fling- 
ing the  cards  at  him.  She  rose  now  with  something 
between  apprehension  and  admiration  in  her  face. 

"  If  you  cancel  the  cards,  you  dare-devil,  it'll  be  by 
good  luck  rather  than  by  good  management,"  she  mut- 
tered ;   "  but  more  unlikely  things  have  come  to  pass." 
s  273 


CHAPTER    XXIX 

[R.  JELLYBOND  TINNEY  found  Montacute  ly- 
ing on  a  sofa  by  an  open  window,  looking  out 
listlessly.  His  head  was  resting  on  the  window- 
sill,  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  people  passing 
to  and  fro  in  the  park  below,  but  his  thoughts  were  else- 
where— if,  indeed,  he  were  thinking  at  all,  which  was 
doubtful.  His  whole  attitude  betokened  exhaustion  ; 
and  not  only  the  power  to  exert  himself  seemed  wanting, 
but  also  the  wish.  He  had  grown  extraordinarily  tall, 
but  was  thin  to  emaciation.  His  natural  colorlessness 
was  accentuated  by  the  transparency  of  his  skin.  He 
looked  like  a  wax  figure  with  attenuated  veins  ill  drawn 
on  the  surface  in  burnt  umber. 

He  was  not  expecting  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney,  and  the 
surprise  of  his  arrival  roused  him  somewhat.  There 
had  been  a  smouldering  feud  between  them,  because 
Montacute  resented  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney's  influence 
over  his  mother,  and  was  always  on  the  watch  to  prevent 
him  taking  too  much  upon  himself;  but  away  from  home 
that  feeling  was  in  abeyance,  and  he  was  glad  to  see  him. 
The  first  glance  had  satisfied  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney 
that  there  was  ground  for  alarm,  but  no  one  would  have 
suspected  it  from  his  manner. 

*  I'm  up  in  town  for  a  few  days,"  he  said,  "  and  just 
came  in  to  say  '  How  do  you  do  ?'  By-the-way,  how  do 
you  do  ?  As  a  rule,  when  people  come  to  ask  us  that 
question,  in  that  sort  of  way,  they  don't  wait  for  an 
answer.  Is  that  an  interesting  book  you  have  there  ?" 

274 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

*  It's  Virgil/'  said  Montacute. 

"  In  the  Greek,  J  suppose/'  said  Mr.  Jelly  bond  Tinney, 
blinking. 

Montacute  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  in  uncertain- 
ty. Then  it  dawned  upon  him  that  old  Jellybond  had 
given  himself  away,  and  sudden  seriousness  descended 
like  a  mask  upon  his  countenance. 

"  I'm  fond  of  the  classics  myself,  but  not  in  the  origi- 
nal," Mr.  Jellybond  pursued,  disarming  adverse  criti- 
cism by  frank  confession,  as  was  his  wont.  "  1  never 
mastered  dead  languages;  1  never  had  the  chance. 
By-the-way,  now  that  1  come  to  look  at  you,  you  don't 
seem  very  fit." 

"  I'm  not  quite  fit/'  said  Montacute. 

"  Been  working  too  hard,  1  suppose.  Why  not  come 
down  home  for  a  change  ?" .  . 

"  1  had  not  thought  of  it." 

"  Well,  think  of  it  now,  and  come  back  with  me/' 

"  1  can't  be  bothered." 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  was  baffled. 

"  It  would  do  your  mother  good,"  he  ventured. 

Montacute  ignored  the  suggestion. 

Then  there  was  a  pause.  rr.y 

"  No,  you  certainly  are  not  looking  well,"  Mr.  Jelly- 
bond  began  again,  at  last.  "You've  not  half  flesh 
enough  on  your  bones  for  your  height.  You  want 
fresh  air  and  feeding  up." 

"  I'm  sick  of  food,"  said  Montacute.  "  They're  always 
cramming  me  here,  from  morning  to  night." 

"  They  don't  cram  you  with  fresh  air,  I'll  bet,"  said 
Mr.  Jellybond.  "  You'd  better  let  me  persuade  you  to 
come  back  with  me." 

Montacute  turned  to  the  window  and  looked  out  for 
a  little.  He  was  beginning  to  waver. 

"  There'd  be  such  a  fuss,"  he  objected.  "  My  mother 
would  think  1  was  going  to  die,  and  Mr.  Stephens 

275 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

wouldn't  like  it,  just  at  the  beginning  of  the  term.  I'm 
his  pet  pupil — quite  the  hope  of  the  house,  you  see." 

Mr.  Stephens  entered  opportunely  in  time  to  hear  this 
last  remark. 

"  What's  that  you're  saying  ?"  he  asked. 

"  1  say  you  wouldn't  like  it  if  1  went  home  for  a  change 
just  now,"  Montacute  answered.  "  Mr.  Jellybond  Tin- 
ney  says  I'm  not  looking  fit,  and  wants  me  to  go  back 
with  him." 

"  1  would  if  1  were  you,"  said  Mr.  Stephens.  "  You've 
overgrown  your  strength,  and  London  is  not  the  place 
to  recoup.  The  air  is  too  vitiated." 

Montacute,  looking  from  one  to  the  other,  saw  signs 
of  conspiracy  in  their  impassive  faces  ;  but  he  was 
seized  upon  by  the  cruel  reserve  which  besets  the  young 
when  they  suffer,  and  could  not  bring  himself  to  ask  a 
question. 

"  Will  you  come  ?"  said  Mr.  Jellybond. 

"  1  suppose  so,"  he  answered,  apathetically. 

*  It  would  be  as  well  to  see  a  doctor,  perhaps,  before 
you  leave  town,"  Mr.  Jellybond  said,  casually,  "  just  to 
ask  if  you'd  better  have  a  tonic  or  something." 

"  1  suppose  so,"  Montacute  reiterated. 

The  doctor  was  bland  and  vague.  When  he  had  ex- 
amined Montacute  he  took  Mr.  Jellybond  aside  and 
generalized  delightfully  on  the  subject  of  atrophy,  its 
cause  and  cure,  for  half  an  hour,  then,  concerning  Monta- 
cute, gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  "  with  care,  of  course ; 
but  he'd  better  come  and  see  me  again  in  a  few  weeks." 

After  that  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  became  nervously 
anxious  to  get  the  boy  home.  The  bustle  and  prepara- 
tion for  his  departure,  however,  had  set  up  a  reaction 
from  the  state  of  apathy  in  which  Mr.  Jellybond  had 
found  him,  and  he  began  to  be  difficult  to  manage. 

"  Look  here,  Mr.  Jellybond,"  he  said,  "  I'm  going 

276 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

over  to  stay  with  you  at  your  hotel.  1  want  to  see  a 
little  life  before  I  leave  London.  You  know  the  ropes. 
1  want  you  to  show  me  about.  I'm  over  eighteen,  and 
the  Zoological  Gardens  have  ceased  to  satisfy  me  as  a 
preparatory  school  for  the  business  of  life.  Take  me 
into  the  human  hive,  and  let  me  see  the  machinery,  the 
drones  and  the  workers,  the  good  and  the  bad.  If  1 
begin  to  go  about  on  my  own  account  1  may  come  to 
grief  ;  but  1  shall  be  all  right  with  you  to  show  me  the 
way." 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  positively  declined. 

"  Don't  ask  me  to  take  you  anywhere  until  you're  in 
better  health,"  he  said.  "You'd  not  be  able  to  hold 
your  own  in  a  row  or  anything  at  present.  And  it  isn't 
worth  your  while  to  come  to  the  hotel  for  one  night." 

"  You  funk  the  responsibility,"  said  Montacute. 

"  I  do." 

Nevertheless,  he  found  himself  obliged  to  accede  to 
Montacute's  desire  to  join  him  at  his  hotel.  It  was,  in 
fact,  more  of  a  command  than  a  request,  for  Montacute 
was  well  supplied  with  money,  and  could  do  as  he 
pleased. 

They  dined  together  that  evening,  and  immediately 
after  dinner  Montacute  took  himself  off  to  bed.  Mr. 
Jellybond  saw  him  depart  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  His 
responsibility  was  over  for  that  day,  at  least.  He  was 
still  by  way  of  defying  the  cards,  but  was  uneasy 
all  the  same.  The  prediction  that  the  boy's  death  would 
lie  at  his  door  tormented  him.  If  fate  could  be  foiled  by 
precaution  it  should  be  ;  but  what  he  feared  was  that 
fate  meant  to  play  him  one  of  her  scurvy  tricks — that 
somehow,  in  spite  of  him,  Birnam  Wood  would  be 
brought  to  Dunsinane. 

The  next  morning,  when  he  was  dressed,  he  went  to 
Montacute's  room  to  see  if  he  were  ready  for  breakfast, 
and  found  him  still  in  bed. 

277 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

*  I'm  not  going  to  get  up,"  Montacute  said.  "  I'm 
tired  and  mean  to  rest  and  read  a  novel.  Send  me  up 
a  good  breakfast." 

"  I'll  send  for  the  doctor  also/'  said  Mr.  Jelly  bond. 

"  Doctor  !  Rot !"  said  Montacute.  "  Look  at  me  ! 
I'm. a  lot  better  than  1  was  yesterday.  But  I'm  lazy, 
and  1  won't  move  till  1  think  fit." 

"  But  the  train  goes — " 

"  Confound  the  train  !"  said  Montacute.  "  You  just 
wash  your  hands  of  the  responsibility.  I'm  not  your 
baby  boy.  Send  me  some  breakfast,  there's  a  good  fel- 
low, do  ;  and  leave  me  alone  in  peace  with  The  Woman 
in  White." 

He  grinned  up  uncannily  at  Mr.  Jelly  bond  as  he  spoke, 
and  there  appeared  in  his  face  for  a  moment  a  singu- 
lar resemblance  to  Babs.  Now,  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney 
knew  Babs  well,  and  when  he  saw  that  look  in  her  broth- 
er's face  he  scented  trouble.  He  knew  that  there  was 
no  arguing  with  Babs  in  an  obstinate  mood,  and  foresaw 
that  it  might  be  the  same  with  her  brother,  for  all  his  ill- 
ness and  apathy. 

Montacute  came  down  in  the  afternoon  and  took  com- 
mand of  the  party. 

"  It's  too  late  to  go  home  to-day,"  he  said.  "  Let's  go 
for  an  airing.  It  '11  buck  us  up  a  bit.  I'm  very  sorry 
Babs  is  in  Paris.  If  she'd  been  here  we'd  have  taken 
her  too.  Babs  is  always  good  company." 

In  the  evening,  directly  after  dinner,  Montacute  again 
retired  ;  and  again  next  morning  he  would  not  get  up. 

This  continued  for  many  days.  Mr.  Jellybond  Tin- 
ney sent  cheerful  reports  to  Mrs.  Kingconstance  ;  but 
he  was  at  his  wits'  end.  He  had  not  anticipated  any 
trouble  at  all  with  Montacute  ;  but  it  seemed  as  if  the 
boy  had  suddenly  become  a  man  on  his  hands,  and  a 
headstrong  man  to  boot.  Mr.  Montacute  quite  appre- 
ciated the  difference  of  position  between  them,  and  skil- 

278 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

fully  used  the  ease  and  grace  of  bearing  that  was  his  by 
right  of  birth  and  breeding  to  keep  Mr.  Jellybond  Tin- 
ney  in  his  proper  place.  Race  tells.  In  such  encoun- 
ters between  plebeian  and  aristocrat  the  plebeian,  how- 
ever great  his  superiority  as  a  man  of  character  and  of 
ability,  has  little  chance.  The  hereditary  habits  of  com- 
mand and  of  obedience  are  inveterate.  In  social  matters, 
where  the  two  meet  on  equal  terms,  the  child  of  birth  takes 
the  lead  as  by  right,  and  the  child  of  the  people  follows 
as  of  necessity.  To  Montacute's  suave  announcement 
of  his  intentions  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  had  nothing 
more  forcible  to  oppose  than  ineffectual  remonstrance. 
The  charming  letters  he  wrote  to  Mrs.  Kingconstance 
during  this  time  fanned  the  flame  of  her  impatience  to 
see  him  again  ;  but  Montacute  also  wrote.  He  told  his 
mother  that  he  was  doing  well  in  London,  an  assertion 
that  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney,  in  view  of  Montacute's  reg- 
ular habits  and  moderation,  could  not  refute,  and  de- 
manding time  and  money  to  complete  the  cure — neither 
of  which  could  his  mother  deny  him  for  such  a  purpose, 
chafe  as  she  might  at  the  delay. 

Mr.  Jellybond  also  chafed  sorely  at  first ;  but  by  de- 
grees the  apprehensions  which  were  at  the  bottom  of  his 
uneasiness  subsided,  and  his  knack  of  making  the  best 
of  everything  came  into  play.  He  was  in  comfortable 
quarters.  Montacute  went  to  bed  every  night  directly 
after  dinner,  but  during  the  time  that  they  were  together 
Mr.  Jellybond  found  him  excellent  company,  and  was 
beguiled  into  talking  to  him  as  to  another  man  of  the 
world.  Left  alone  after  dinner,  with  Montacute  up- 
stairs safe  in  bed,  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  adorned  him- 
self with  an  Inverness  cloak  and  sallied  forth  jauntily 
with  his  opera-hat  under  his  arm.  Obsequious  hotel 
lackeys  ran  down  the  steps  to  call  up  a  hansom  for  him, 
and  he  enjoyed  their  zealous  service.  His  air  was  quite 
"  doggie  ";  one  would  have  said  a  well-preserved  elderly 

279 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

man  rakishly  bent  on  making  the  most,  in  an  undesira- 
ble manner,  of  such  flashes  of  youthful  feeling  as  still 
remained  to  him.  But  night  after  night  the  hotel  porter 
who  shut  the  doors  of  his  hansom  upon  him  received  the 
same  order  for  the  driver,  "  House  of  Commons,"  deliv- 
ered with  the  casual  air  of  a  man  who  is  following  an 
accustomed  pursuit;  and  night  after  night  was  spent 
by  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney,  thanks  to  the  influence  of  his 
county  friends,  with  distinguished  strangers  in  the  fore- 
most row,  studying  Parliamentary  procedure  with  the 
intentness  of  a  practical  man  who  means  business. 

Meanwhile  the  weather  had  changed.  The  autumn 
swept  itself  away.  The  equinoctial  gales  set  in  betimes, 
the  temperature  went  down,  and  the  Inverness  cloak, 
which  had  been  adopted  as  an  ornament,  became  a  ne- 
cessity. 

At  last  one  day,  on  his  return,  shivering  in  the  early 
hours  of  the  morning  from  an  all-night  sitting,  Mr.  Jel- 
lybond Tinney  noticed  as  he  passed  Montacute's  room 
that  the  door  was  open.  The  fact  did  not  strike  him 
particularly  until  he  began  to  undress,  but  then,  all  at 
once,  for  no  reason  that  he  could  have  given,  he  was 
seized  upon  by  an  importunate  impulse  to  go  and  see — 
what  ?  He  did  not  know,  and  before  he  could  ask  him- 
self he  was  out  in  the  passage 

Montacute's  door  was  certainly  ajar.  The  stupid  old 
riddle  recurred  to  him,  but  he  found  no  suggestion  in  it. 
He  listened.  There  was  no  sound.  Evidently  Monta- 
cute  was  not  ill.  He  must  either  be  awake  or  in  a  very 
deep  sleep.  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  thought  he  would 
have  a  look  at  him  just  to  make  sure.  Very  softly  he 
pushed  the  door  open.  The  gray  dawn  lighted  the  room. 
Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  peeped  round  the  curtain  at  the 
bed.  It  was  empty.  Moreover,  it  had  not  been  slept  in 
at  all  that  night.  Mr.  Jellybond  stood  transfixed. 

"  Hullo  !"  said  a  cheery  voice  behind  him.  "  Found 
280 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

me  out,  eh  ?  Been  given  away  for  once  ?  Well,  don't 
look  glum,  old  chap.  It's  all  right.  Boys  will  be  boys, 
you  know — at  nineteen.  1  say,  get  me  some  soda-water 
— I'm  parched." 

*  You  young  scamp  !"Mr.  Jellybond  exclaimed.  "  And 
I'm  responsible  for  you  !  You'll  come  back  with  me  to- 
day, or  my  name's  not  Tinney." 

"  Well,  it's  about  time,"  said  Montacute,  yawning  ef- 
fusively. "  I'm  pretty  well  done.  Just  give  me  a  few 
hours'  sleep — and  the  soda-water  an'  ye  love  me.  1  say  " 
— confidentially — "  you'd  better  have  taken  my  advice 
and  shown  me  the  ropes.  It  would  have  been  safer.  But, 
anyhow,  I've  had  a  rattling  good  time."  He  turned  his 
trousers  pockets  inside  out.  "  Stony  broke,  and  in  debt," 
he  pursued.  "  You'll  have  to  settle  the  bill  and  pay  for 
the  carriage  of  me  home." 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  waited  impatiently  until  the 
telegraph  offices  were  open,  and  then,  in  his  haste  to  be 
rid  of  the  responsibility,  he  telegraphed  to  Dane  Court 
for  a  carriage  to  meet  them  on  the  arrival  of  the  express 
that  evening. 

Montacute,  looking  like  a  dissipated  ghost  in  a  riotous 
mood,  appeared  in  time  for  a  late  breakfast.  He  enter- 
tained Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  with  a  shameless  account 
of  his  adventures. 

"  You've  been  trying  to  kill  yourself,  it  seems,"  that 
gentleman  said,  grimly. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it — done  me  good,"  Montacute  rejoined  ; 
"and,  at  any  rate,  nobody  could  blame  you  if  1  had  killed 
myself.  1  don't  suppose  you  would  be  expected  to  tuck 
me  up  in  bed  every  night  and  lock  the  door." 

Mr.  Jellybond  had  had  the  same  thought  in  his  own 
mind  all  the  morning,  and  the  expression  of  it  carried 
conviction  home. 

"A  few  more  hours  and  you'll  be  off  my  hands,"  he  ex- 
claimed. 

281 


BABS      THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Thank  goodness,  eh  ?"  said  Montacute,  with  an  un- 
canny grin.  "  Now  be  sociable." 

*  You're  becoming  very  like  your  sister,"  Mr.  Jelly- 
bond  said. 

"  Babs  ?  Yes,  1  see  it  myself.  When  my  spirits  are 
up  I'm  like  Babs  in  character,  or  at  least  1  should  be, 
very,  if  1  had  her  vitality." 

He  sighed. 

"  Oh,  you'll  gain  in  vitality  as  you  go  on,"  Mr.  Jelly- 
bond  hastened  to  assure  him  ;  "  but  no  more  of  this  " — 
and  he  waved  his  hand  significantly  towards  the  great, 
wicked  city. 

They  had  the  Pullman  car  to  themselves  on  the  way 
down,  and  as  they  dashed  along,  express,  Mr.  Jellybond 
Tinney  found  his  equanimity  restored.  Montacute  told 
him  a  story  which  was  quite  unfit  for  publication,  and 
that  drew  from  him  another  and  another,  with  some  wit- 
ticisms interspersed  ;  and  having  once  started  they  kept 
the  ball  rolling  between  them  until  the  train  itself  seemed 
to  rock  with  ribald  mirth. 

But  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  pulled  himself  up  at  last,  in 
view  of  his  companion's  youth,  and  pointed  a  tardy  moral 
by  asserting  that  all  that  sort  of  thing  was  truly  objec- 
tionable, although  undeniably  funny. 

"  We  can't  always  be  on  our  best  behavior,  1  allow," 
he  said  ;  "  and  it  is  not  our  occasional  lapses,  but  our 
habitual  indulgences,  that  brand  us.  But  you  take  it 
from  me,  my  boy,  for  1  know  what  1  am  talking  about. 
I've  seen  many  a  boy  of  property  and  promise  like  you 
come  to  grief,  more's  the  pity,  after  just  such  a  start  as 
you've  been  making.  Enjoy  as  you  go  along,  but  go 
gently.  Enjoy  in  moderation,  if  you  would  enjoy  thor- 
oughly ;  and  don't  you  be  such  a  fool  as  to  believe  it, 
no  matter  who  will  have  it  so — immoral  pleasures  are 
not  the  finest  form  of  entertainment  by  any  means." 

They  pulled  up  at  the  station.  A  bitter  wind  swept 

282 


the  platform.  The  rain  was  falling  in  torrents.  Mr. 
Jellybond  huddled  Montacute  into  his  top-coat. 

"  Quick  to  the  carriage,"  he  said. 

They  dashed  out.     There  was  no  carriage  there. 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney,  in  his  haste,  had  put  nothing 
but  "  Danehurst  "  on  his  telegram,  and  it  had  gone  to 
every  other  Danehurst  in  the  country  before  it  reached 
the  right  one. 

There  was  no  cab  either,  or  vehicle  of  any  kind,  and 
the  rain  was  descending  in  torrents  and  the  wind  blow- 
ing icy  cold. 

"  Here's  a  jolly  deluge,"  said  Montacute,  rolling  up 
his  trousers. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?"  said  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney, 
sharply. 

"  I'm  just  going  to  dash  across  to  '  The  Flag  of  My 
Country  '  and  see  if  they  can  fish  us  out  any  sort  of  a 
trap." 

"  We'd  better  stay  and  sleep  there,"  Mr.  Jellybond  ad- 
vised. 

"  Not  me,"  said  Montacute.  "  1  mean  to  be  tucked 
up  in  my  own  little  bed  to-night  by  my  mammy." 

"  But  a  seventeen-mile  drive  in  a  shandrydan  in  such 
a  storm's  enough  to  kill  the  pair  of  us." 

"  Rot !"  said  Montacute. 

"  You  wait  here,  at  all  events,  and  let  me  go  and  see 
about  the  trap." 

But  Montacute  dashed  out  into  the  rain  unheeding, 
and  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  follow  him  ;  which 
Mr.  Jellybond  did,  shivering  with  horrible  misgivings. 

283 


CHAPTER    XXX 

WHEN  we  expect  something  disastrous  we  gen- 
erally keep  in  reserve  the  hope  that  it  will  not 
happen  because  we  expect  it,  thereby  prov- 
ing our  faith  in  the  fallacy  that  it  is  always 
the  unexpected  that  happens.  This  is  what  Mr.  Jelly- 
bond  Tinney  did  during  the  first  few  feverish  days  after 
Montacute's  return.  He  tried  to  flatter  himself  that  it 
was  not  the  expected  which  would  happen  because  it 
was  expected,  and  that  therefore  the  law  of  the  unex- 
pected must  intervene.  He  did  not  perceive  that  as 
soon  as  the  unexpected  is  expected  it  ceases  to  be  un- 
expected. 

On  his  arrival  at  Dane  Court  Montacute  had  prompt- 
ly taken  to  his  bed,  and  had  remained  there  ;  and,  al- 
though he  was  only  said  to  be  suffering  from  a  chill, 
everybody  was  anxious  except  his  mother. 

"  Cute  always  has  a  chill  at  this  time  of  the  year,"  she 
observed,  complacently.  She  seemed  to  think  that  there 
was  safety  in  the  punctual  recurrence  of  the  evil.  "  This 
is  rather  a  worse  one  than  usual,  but  he'll  get  over  it  all 
right,"  she  added,  comfortably.  "And  probably  it  will 
do  him  good.  When  people  have  rather  a  bad  illness, 
people  who  have  been  ailing,  it  clears  off  a  whole  lot  of 
small  evils  in  its  train.  The  doctor  attends  to  them  then. 
He  won't  take  the  trouble  when  there's  nothing  much 
the  matter." 

These  fluent  platitudes  were  addressed  to  Mr.  Jelly- 
bond  Tinney.  They  were  in  her  sitting-room  alone  to- 

284 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

gether,  the  doctor  having  just  left  them  after  the  second 
visit  to  Montacute  that  day,  and  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney 
was  looking  exceedingly  grave.  To  see  the  two  to- 
gether one  would  have  supposed  that  he  was  the  anx- 
ious parent  and  Mrs.  Kingconstance  his  friendly  con- 
soler. 

"  You  can't  think  that  anything's  going  to  happen  to 
him/'  she  went  on,  "  after  all  the  trouble  of  getting  him 
home,  and  this  delightful  change  in  the  weather,  too  ? 
Why,  1  dressed  with  all  my  windows  open  this  morning, 
it  was  so  fine." 

"  You  could  not  have  had  your  windows  open  the  night 
of  our  arrival,"  said  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney,  gloomily. 
"  1  cannot  help  blaming  myself,  and  yet  1  don't  know 
how  1  could  have  helped  it,  unless  1  had  put  him  in  irons. 
That  boy's  the  very  " — devil  he  had  been  going  to  say, 
but  he  checked  himself  in  time,  and  concluded,  lamely — 
"  is  very  difficult  to  manage." 

"  My  children  all  have  a  very  great  deal  of  character," 
said  Mrs.  Kingconstance. 

Mr.  Jellybond,  who  had  been  walking  up  and  down 
the  room,  stopped  short. 

"  1  suppose  you  will  send  for  Babs,"  he  said. 

"  Oh  no !  Why  should  1  ?"  Mrs.  Kingconstance 
asked.  "  All  the  way  from  Paris — just  think !  And 
she  is  doing  so  well  there.  Babs  has  never  been  so 
satisfactory  in  her  life.  You  surely  would  not  ad- 
vise me  to  send  for  her  now.  It  would  only  unsettle 
her." 

"  1  should,"  said  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney,  emphatically. 

"  But  why  ?" 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  walked  up  and  down  again. 
What  should  he  say  ?  How  could  he  tell  a  mother  that 
she  had  better  send  for  her  daughter  because  her  son  was 
going  to  die  ?  And  would  it  not  be  just  as  bad  to  sug- 
gest that  if  anything  happened  to  Montacute  and  Babs 

285 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

were  not  sent  for  in  time  she  would  never  forgive  her 
mother  ? 

"  Why  ?"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  repeated. 

"  It  would  be  better,  1  think,"  he  answered,  with  much 
hesitation.  "  If  Montacute  has  a  serious  illness  and 
Babs  is  not  sent  for  she  will — er — not  be  pleased." 

"  Really,  my  good  friend,"  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance, 
"  is  that  a  reason  ?  Babs  will  not  be  pleased,  indeed  ! 
Why,  didn't  you  yourself  persuade  me  to  send  Babs  to 
school  to  cure  her  of  thinking  of  nothing  but  her  own 
pleasure  ?  If  she  comes  home  now  she  will  encourage 
Montacute  to  do  everything  that  he  ought  not  to  do,  and 
we  shall  have  no  end  of  trouble — " 

She  stopped  short  with  her  mouth  still  open,  as  in  the 
act  of  speaking,  and  stared  in  astonishment  at  Mr.  Jelly- 
bond  Tinney.  For  he,  victim  of  the  force  of  habit,  catch- 
ing a  glimpse  of  himself  in  the  long  mirror  on  the  wall 
at  the  end  of  the  room,  lost  consciousness  of  his  sur- 
roundings, checked  himself  in  his  anxious  promenade, 
went  up  to  the  mirror  and  began  to  dance,  his  counte- 
nance grimly  set  the  while,  and  danced  till  his  coat- 
tails  flew — as  was  his  wont  on  grave  occasions  when 
alone. 

Mrs.  Kingconstance's  astonishment  changed  to  alarm. 
She  sat  staring  at  him,  horribly  fascinated,  unable  to 
speak  or  move. 

Becoming  suddenly  aware  of  what  he  was  doing,  he 
pulled  himself  up,  stood  a  moment  facing  himself  with 
eyes  of  reproach  in  the  mirror,  and  then  slowly  turned 
to  her. 

Both  were  overcome — he  with  the  sense  of  having  lost 
his  dignity  irretrievably,  she  with  the  fear  that  he  had 
gone  mad. 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  was  the  first  to  recover. 

"Well,  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney!"  she  exclaimed  ;  "may 
1  ask  for  an  explanation?" 

286 


SHE   SAT   STARING   AT   HIM,   HORRIBLY   FASCINATED 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

He  took  out  his  pocket-handkerchief  and  mopped  his 
forehead. 

"  It  is  a  way  1  have/'  he  said,  simply.  "  When  in  doubt  1 
dance ;  when  in  a  difficulty  1  tell  the  truth.  1  apologize." 

"  There  is  no  need  to  apologize/'  said  Mrs.  Kingcon- 
stance,  falling  back  upon  convention.  "  But  1  was  cer- 
tainly surprised.  1  didn't  know  you  could  dance.  Will 
you — er — do  it  again?" 

"  1  couldn't,  to  save  my  life  !"  he  said,  sincerely. 

Great  drops  of  perspiration  came  out  on  his  forehead 
at  the  bare  suggestion.  It  was  bad  enough  to  have 
made  a  fool  of  himself  involuntarily  ;  was  it  likely  that 
he  would  commit  himself  again  to  order  ? 

In  the  evening,  when  the  doctor  came  to  see  Montacute 
for  the  third  time  that  day,  feeling  began  to  run  high  in 
the  servants'  hall,  and  comments  were  made  unrestrain- 
edly. A  sense  of  something  tragic  impending  had  seized 
upon  the  household  ;  and  the  half-light  of  ignorance  by 
which  the  drama  was  viewed  from  down-stairs  cast  curi- 
ous distortions  upon  the  actors  and  their  motives.  The 
upper  servants  sat  long  at  table  that  evening.  Little  was 
being  said ;  but  it  was  evident  from  the  expression  of 
each  face  that  the  minds  of  all  were  occupied  with  a 
subject  of  uncommon  gravity. 

Benson,  the  butler,  was  the  most  moved,  apparently, 
as  was  natural,  considering  that  he  had  seen  the  children 
grow  up  from  their  cradles  and  understood  their  dis- 
positions better  than  their  own  mother  did.  Mrs.  King- 
constance  valued  Benson  extremely  as  an  ornament  to 
her  establishment.  The  prejudices  of  the  county  fami- 
lies had  acted  upon  his  mind  and  reacted  on  his  appear- 
ance so  emphatically  that  he  might  easily  have  passed 
for  a  county  gentleman  himself  until  he  spoke.  But 
he  deserved  her  esteem  on  higher  grounds  than  those, 
he  being  entirely  devoted  to  her  interests. 

287 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

He  sat  now  balancing  a  large  dinner- knife,  which, 
being  loose  in  its  haft,  emitted  a  sharp  "  ping  !"  every 
time  he  allowed  it  to  touch  the  table;  and  this  sound 
was  the  signal  for  him  to  shake  his  head  solemnly. 

"  1  sawr  'e  'ad  that  cold  on  'im  as  soon  as  ever  'e  got 
'ere,"  he  remarked,  at  last ;  "  and  it's  my  opinion  that 
that  there  Jellybond  Tinney's  as  much  to  blame  fur 
bringin'  of  'im  back  as  'e  were  fur  gettin'  on  'im  sent 
away.  That's  my  opinion.  You  can  accept  it  or  not,  as 
you  choose,  ladies  and  gentlemen." 

They  accepted  it,  one  and  all,  with  various  signs  of 
approval. 

"  You've  'it  the  right  nail  on  the  'ead  this  time,  Mr. 
Benson,"  Clodd  observed. 

Clodd  had  worked  himself  into  the  house  as  second 
footman  without  Mr.  Jellybond's  assistance,  and  the 
civilizing  influence  of  domestication  was  already  appar- 
ent in  his  manners,  and  had  also  had  a  humanizing  ef- 
fect upon  his  countenance.  His  wide  mouth  had  been 
contracted  by  increased  decision  of  character  and  self- 
respect,  so  that  his  eyes  looked  larger  and  his  nose  more 
prominent ;  in  expression,  too,  his  face  was  greatly  im- 
proved, cunning  having  given  place  to  intelligence.  The 
indirect  cause  of  the  improvement,  for  he  received  no 
encouragement,  was  Bertha,  the  young  lady's-maid. 
Clodd  had  fallen  in  love  with  Bertha.  His  devotion  was 
of  the  chivalrous,  respectful  kind  which  impels  men  to 
become  worthy  of  the  object  of  their  admiration — the 
kind  that  women  most  appreciate  when  they  understand 
it.  The  constant  effort  to  understand  Bertha,  to  feel  in 
himself  what  he  saw  in  her — that  absence  of  evil  thought, 
or  of  anything  worse  in  her  mind  than  fun  and  mischief, 
which  made  her  so  good  to  look  upon — had  been  a  pol- 
ishing process  to  Clodd. 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney,  being  in  ill  odor  with  the  ser- 
vants down-stairs  just  then,  by  reason  of  a  suspicion  of 

288 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

his  design  to  become  master  of  the  house  which  had  re- 
cently got  about,  was  naturally  blamed  for  everything 
untoward  that  happened.  Bertha  was  particularly  hard 
on  him.  She  was  sore  because  the  special  attentions 
with  which  he  had  flattered  her  vanity  in  the  early  days 
of  their  acquaintance  had  ceased  when  he  became  seri- 
ous in  his  designs  upon  Mrs.  Kingconstance.  He  was 
too  wary  a  gentleman  to  trouble  himself  about  smaller 
fry  by  the  way  when  it  was  big  game  that  he  was  after. 

It  was  Bertha  who  next  broke  the  silence. 

"  I'm  sure  it's  that  Jellybond  Tinney's  doings  that 
Miss  Lorraine's  not  been  sent  for,"  she  burst  out.  "  I 
believe  she's  never  been  told  he  was  ill  even — and  he's 
dying  to  see  her,  and  always  asking  when  she'll  be  here. 
Oh,  it's  a  shame  !  I've  a  good  mind  to  write  and  tell 
her  my  self !" 

"  Yes,  it's  all  that  Jellybond,  you  may  be  sure,"  Ben- 
son agreed,  with  a  smack  of  disgust,  like  a  man  who  has 
swallowed  a  fly  inadvertently. 

Clodd  shook  his  head  and  pursed  up  his  mouth. 

"  I'd  like  to  see  him  kicked,"  Bertha  declared,  slapping 
the  palm  of  one  hand  with  the  other  vehemently. 

"  Sooner  or  later,"  Clodd  said,  impressively,  "  that 
man  will  be  cir-cum-wented  by  I  know  who,  you  bet." 
T  289 


CHAPTER     XXXI 

THE  outcome  of  the  colloquy  among  the  servants 
was  an  alarming  letter  from  Bertha  to  Babs. 
When  she  received  it  Babs  was  idling  in  the 
salon,  whither  she  had  been  sent  to  practise 
her  singing-lesson.  She  had  a  lovely  voice,  and  one  of 
the  best  singing-masters  of  Paris  was  directing  its  cul- 
tivation. The  school  experiment  had  answered  admi- 
rably for  Babs,  thanks  to  the  good  lady  with  whom  she 
was  placed.  Provided  you  kept  her  amused,  Babs  was 
teachable ;  but  instruction  had  to  be  administered  to 
her  on  the  kindergarten  system,  with  toys  and  games 
and  songs  and  dances.  It  was  by  object-lessons  that 
she  profited  most.  Still,  in  the  two  years  that  she  had 
been  in  Paris  she  had  learned  much  and  improved  in 
many  ways.  Of  the  world  she  knew  no  more  than  a 
babe.  That  was  not  her  fault,  however,  but  the  defect 
of  her  education.  She  would  easily  have  acquired  wis- 
dom and  self-reliance  in  all  those  matters  in  which  wis- 
dom and  self-reliance  alone  are  of  avail  had  not  all  the 
necessary  information  been  scrupulously  withheld  from 
her.'  At  seventeen  Babs  was  armed,  as  most  young 
ladies  are,  with  scraps  of  every  sort  of  knowledge  ex- 
cept that  knowledge  of  herself  which  would  have  been 
most  precious  to  her  in  a  world  of  wolves  in  sheep's 
clothing.  Of  her  own  nature,  and  of  the  dangers  to 
which  she  was  exposed  by  reason  of  her  natural  instincts, 
Babs  knew  nothing  and  suspected  nothing. 

She  happened  to  be  thinking  of  Montacute  when  Ber- 

290 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

tha's  letter  was  brought  to  her.  She  had  heard  from 
her  mother  during  the  week ;  but  Mrs.  Kingconstance 
had  merely  mentioned  casually  that  Cute  was  out  of 
sorts  and  had  come  home  for  a  week  ;  and  Babs  had 
thought  less  of  his  being  "  out  of  sorts  "  than  of  the  fact 
that  he  was  at  home  and  she  was  not  there  to  enjoy  the 
occasion.  The  news  that  he  was  seriously  ill  served  to 
change  her  vague  desire  into  a  positive  determination. 
She  went  to  Madame  Robert  with  Bertha's  letter  in  her 
hand,  and  said  she  must  go  home  at  once.  Madame 
Robert  replied  that  that  was  impossible  ;  she  could  not 
act  upon  information  received  from  a  servant ;  if  her 
presence  at  home  were  necessary,  doubtless  she  would 
be  sent  for,  and  in  any  case  she  could  not  travel  alone. 

Babs  had  been  inclined  to  argue  the  point,  but  that 
last  assertion  suggested  an  idea  which  it  would  have 
been  futile  to  discuss.  She  therefore  said  not  another 
word,  but  went  back  to  her  singing  with  the  air  of  one 
convinced. 

"  How  docile  that  child  has  become,"  Madame  Robert 
remarked  to  mademoiselle,  her  second  in  command. 
"  Really,  she  is  very  much  improved." 

"  Thanks  to  you,  dear  madame,  she  has  become  a 
very  sweet  creature,"  mademoiselle  rejoined. 

She  ought  to  have  been  superintending  Babs's  sing- 
ing-lesson in  the  salon,  but  forgot  her  duty  in  the  inter- 
est of  this  little  discussion,  and  went  off  afterwards  to  see 
about  something  else.  So  it  happened  that  Babs  found 
herself  alone  for  once  with  her  music  master,  and  made 
the  most  of  the  opportunity. 

Monsieur  Bonane,  known  to  the  girls  among  them- 
selves as  Alphonse,  was  a  youngish  man  whose  meals 
were  so  amply  blessed  to  him  that  it  was  impossible  to 
look  at  him,  even  casually,  without  being  struck  by  the 
fact  that  he  was  extremely  well  nourished. 

He  was  as  sentimental  as  a  schoolgirl  and  as  sensual 

291 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

as  a  monkey.  He  prided  himself  upon  being  unable  to 
refuse  a  pretty  woman  anything  ;  his  courtesies  to  the 
plain  are  not  recorded.  His  coarse  black  hair  stood  up 
stiffly  all  over  his  bullet  head  like  the  bristles  on  a  black- 
ing-brush, and  his  mustache  was  crisply  frizzled  and 
flattened  out  overnight  against  each  cheek  by  means 
of  a  little  machine  made  for  the  purpose.  He  prided 
himself  upon  dressing  like  an  Englishman,  and  had 
appeared  on  that  occasion  in  a  morning  suit  of  pale  gray, 
with  a  white  silk  tie,  and  a  pelargonium  in  his  button- 
hole. Two  fingers  and  a  thumb  of  his  short,  fat,  pudgy 
right  hand  were  stained  brown  at  the  tips  from  ciga- 
rette smoking.  Babs's  particular  aversion  were  his  hands 
and  that  horrid  brown  stain.  There  was  an  exagger- 
ated and  fawning  deference  in  his  manner  to  her  which 
would  have  suggested  anything  but  respect  to  a  more 
experienced  person  ;  and  even  Babs  felt  that  upon  the 
very  least  encouragement  he  would  have  become  famil- 
iar. He  was  making  a  large  income  by  training  sing- 
ers for  the  stage.  To  find  good  voices  to  cultivate  was 
the  great  object  of  his  life  ;  and  his  dream  had  always 
been  to  discover  a  girl,  gloriously  gifted,  who  would 
take  the  world  by  storm  with  his  help,  while  he  would 
go  about  with  her  everywhere,  dazzling  the  jealously 
admiring  eyes  of  all  mankind,  as  her  acknowledged 
lover.  In  the  charming  English  Miss  Kingconstance 
he  had  found  the  ideal  of  this  dream  ;  but,  alas  !  because 
of  the  presence  of  mademoiselle  at  the  lessons  he  had 
never  once  had  an  opportunity  of  telling  her  of  the  radi- 
ant possibilities  which  were  hers — until  that  morning. 
At  first  he  did  not  realize  that  they  were  to  be  left  alone 
together,  and  when  he  did  he  was  almost  too  nervous 
to  take  advantage  of  the  rare  opportunity.  But  Babs 
helped  to  restore  his  confidence.  To  her  he  was  nothing 
but  a  horrid  little,  fat,  overdressed  Frenchman,  of  no  ac- 
count at  all  except  to  teach  her  singing,  or  to  be  made 

292 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

use  of  in  any  other  way  that  might  suit  her  convenience, 
while  being  rigorously  kept  in  his  place. 

"  Mademoiselle  is  not  attending  to  her  lesson  this 
morning/'  he  said. 

"  No,  I'm  not.     I'm  bothered,"  said  Babs. 

"  Oh,  surely  not !"  he  exclaimed.  "  One  like  you 
should  be  shielded  from  all  earthly  trouble." 

"  That  wouldn't  be  exactly  strengthening  to  my  char- 
acter," said  Babs,  with  a  flash  of  common-sense ;  "  and, 
at  any  rate,  I  shouldn't  care  to  be  a  sugar-  plum  in  a 
bonbon  box." 

"  Ah !  Mademoiselle  a  de  I' esprit !"  he  ejaculated,  with 
a  full-blown  sigh.  "  She  is  gifted  beyond  the  measure 
of  mortals." 

*  How  ?"  said  Babs. 
"  That  voice !" 

He  turned  the  palms  of  his  hands  outward  and  gazed 
up  at  the  ceiling. 

"  My  voice  is  good,  you  think  ?" 

"  It  is  magnificent !  You  have  only  to  appear  to  win 
the  applause  of  crowned  heads." 

"  What !  use  my  voice  to  sing  in  public — become  a 
professional  ?  How  horrid  !"  said  Babs. 

He  gazed  at  her  in  amazement. 

"  But,  mademoiselle*  consider,"  he  exclaimed.  "  The 
admiration  !  the  bouquets  !  the  diamonds  !  the  crowned 
heads  !" 

"  Oh,  I  shall  have  admiration  and  bouquets  and  dia- 
monds enough  without  troubling  myself,"  she  answered, 
casually.  "  Those  are  my  birthrights.  And  as  to  the 
crowned  heads,  will  you  kindly  name  one  in  Europe  at 
the  present  moment  that  is  worth  looking  at  ?  If  you 
will,  I  should  like  to  go  and  see  it,  for  it  must  certainly 
be  the  rarest  thing  upon  earth." 

Monsieur  Bonane  sat  speechless. 

*  But  fame — glory  !"  he  finally  gasped,  gazing  up  to 

293 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

her  from  the  piano-stool  in  positive  awe  of  the  wealth  of 
nature  which  could  dispense  with  all  that  so  many  others 
were  imploring  the  gods  on  their  bended  knees  day  and 
night  to  vouchsafe  them. 

"  Look  at  me,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Babs,  striking  an  at- 
titude ;  "  and  listen  to  me  when  I  sing  !  The  world  is 
mine,  I  tell  you,  by  right.  I  shall  find  it  at  my  feet 
when  I  want  it  there.  Sing  in  public — make  an  ex- 
hibition, a  servant  of  myself  to  that " — she  waved  her 
hands  towards  the  people  passing  in  the  street — "be 
paid  to  amuse  them,  be  fearful  of  their  displeasure  and 
grateful  for  their  applause — do  you  call  that  glory  ?  I 
don't." 

"  But — you  are  magnificent  !"  he  cried.  "  I  could 
adore  you  on  my  bended  knees." 

"  Down  on  your  bended  knees,  then,  and  adore  me," 
said  Babs. 

He  took  her  at  her  word.  She  burst  out  laughing  and 
walked  to  the  window,  leaving  him  still  on  his  knees  by 
the  piano,  a  little,  fat  figure  of  fun. 

When  he  had  gathered  himself  up  she  sauntered  back 
to  him. 

"  Look  here,  monsieur,"  she  said,  confidentially.  "  I 
can  see  you  are  a  man  to  be  trusted.  Will  you  do  some- 
thing for  me  ?"  * 

He  had  looked  considerably  crestfallen  and  foolish 
upon  the  failure  of  that  last  little  theatrical  display  ; 
but  now  his  countenance  cleared. 

"  I  am  in  a  difficulty,"  Babs  proceeded — "  a  very  com- 
mon kind  of  difficulty.  I  want  money." 

"  How  much  ?"  he  cried,  tearing  a  bulging  pocket- 
book  from  the  breast-pocket  of  his  coat. 

"  The  value  of  this  little  brooch  would  do,"  she  replied, 
taking  off  a  pretty  diamond  ornament  she  wore — "at 
least  I  think  so.  What  do  you  suppose  it  is  worth — two 
hundred  francs  ?" 

294 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

He  looked  at  it  and  laughed. 

"  Nearer  two  thousand,  1  should  say,  mademoiselle," 
he  assured  her. 

"  1  don't  even  want  one  thousand/'  she  rejoined.  "  1 
only  just  want  to  raise  enough  on  it  for  my  present  pur- 
pose ;  and  1  shall  want  the  brooch  back  when  1  repay 
the  money." 

"  Mademoiselle  will  allow  me  the  honor  of  lending  her 
the  money  without  any  security,  1  hope,"  he  said,  open- 
ing the  pocket-book  and  holding  it  out  to  her.  "  She 
can  pay  the  debt  when  it  suits  her  convenience." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  Babs,  "  but  1  would  rather 
you  took  the  brooch  by  way  of  security,  lest  anything 
should  happen  to  me  in  the  meantime." 

"  Mademoiselle,  1  could  not,"  he  protested.  "  If  ma- 
demoiselle wrould  give  me  some  other  little  thing — a 
trifle  to  serve  as  keepsake — " 

A  footstep  was  heard  outside  in  the  hall. 

Babs  hastily  tore  off  a  little  ring  she  wore  and  put  it 
in  his  hand.  As  hastily  he  abstracted  a  note  from  his 
pocket-book,  folded  it,  gave  it  to  her — then  hopped  onto 
the  music-stool. 

The  door  opened — the  much-flustered  second  in  com- 
mand came  hurrying  in. 

"  You  must  dwell  on  that  note  fortissimo,"  Monsieur 
Bonane  was  saying,  excitedly. 

He  jumped  up  to  make  his  bow  to  mademoiselle,flopped 
down  again,  and  continued. 

Babs  took  the  note  with  precision  and  held  it  true, 
fastening  her  brooch  at  the  same  time,  then  putting  what 
might  have  been  her  handkerchief  into  her  pocket,  in 
the  casual  way  habitual  to  her. 

The  second  in  command  sat  down  with  a  sigh  of  re- 
lief, inwardly  congratulating  herself  on  the  supposition 
that  at  all  events  no  harm  had  been  done  by  her  untimely 
forgetfulness. 

295 


CHAPTER      XXXII 

NEXT  morning  the  boat  express  was  just  about 
to  leave  the  Gare  du  Nord.  All  the  bustle  was 
over,  the  last  of  the  luggage  was  being  put  in, 
the  passengers  had  taken  their  seats  and  were 
settling  themselves  for  the  journey.  One  gentleman 
in  particular  was  congratulating  himself  upon  having 
secured  an  empty  carriage.  He  had  arranged  his  nu- 
merous packages,  put  on  his  travelling-cap,  and  was 
opening  his  newspaper  when  the  signal  was  given  for 
the  train  to  start. 

But  just  at  that  moment  there  arose  a  hubbub  on  the 
platform — shouts — then  a  sound  like  the  rush  of  wings. 
The  solitary  passenger  listened  without  looking  up. 
The  train  was  moving,  but  the  door  was  torn  open,  a 
bag  was  thrown  into  the  carriage,  and  Babs  tumbled 
in  after  it  headlong  with  much  sith  of  invisible  silk.  An 
official  banged  to  the  door  and  they  were  off. 

Babs  leaned  forward  anxiously  until  the  train  had 
glided  out  of  the  station.  Then  she  threw  herself  back 
on  her  seat. 

"  That's  all  right !"  she  exclaimed. 

Looking  round,  she  met  the  eyes  of  her  fellow-traveller 
fixed  upon  her  with  an  amused  expression. 

"  Did  I  speak  ?"  she  asked. 

"  You  did,"  he  answered. 

"  How  stupid  of  me  !  But  I  meant  it.  Thank  good- 
ness, I'm  off !  There's  nothing  to  be  afraid  of  now." 

"  You're  not  afraid  of  me,  then  ?"  he  asked,  tentatively. 

296 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

Babs  looked  at  him  with  wide-open,  innocent  eyes 
inquiringly. 

"  You're  not  my  natural  enemy,  are  you  ?"  she  asked. 
"  But  if  you  are,  at  any  rate  you're  the  only  one." 

"  My  dear  child,"  he  said,  gravely,  "  you  ought  to 
know  that,  under  the  circumstances,  in  the  multitude 
of  enemies  there  is  safety." 

Babs  reflected  a  moment. 

"  That's  too  subtle  for  me,"  she  said.     "  I  don't  see  it." 

"  Then  all  the  more  reason  that  you  should  not  be 
travelling  alone  with  no  one  to  look  after  you." 

"  You  can  look  after  me  if  you  like,"  said  Babs,  smil- 
ing irresistibly.  "  1  like  your  face ;  I'm  sure  you're 
nice." 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  responding  to  the  smile. 

He  was  a  good-looking  man  of  a  refined  type,  tall  and 
slight,  verging  on  forty-five,  with  a  sprinkling  of  gray 
in  his  hair,  and  a  slight,  dark  mustache.  Everything 
about  him — hands,  feet,  and  features,  the  way  he  was 
dressed,  and  the  cultivated  tone  of  his  voice — bespoke 
gentlehood.  One  would  have  said  an  Englishman  of 
the  best  sort.  His  voice  was  particularly  agreeable. 
When  he  smiled  there  was  a  gleam  of  good  teeth,  and 
his  face,  which,  in  repose,  was  somewhat  melancholy, 
broke  into  happy  lines. 

"  You  don't  look  upon  every  strange  man  you  meet 
as  a  natural  enemy,  then  ?"  he  said 

"  No,"  she  answered,  "  why  should  I  ?  I  should  be 
more  inclined  to  look  upon  every  man  I  meet  as  a  natu- 
ral protector,  I  think — unless,  of  course,  his  appearance 
was  very  forbidding." 

"  But  supposing  you  had  jumped  into  the  carriage 
with  a  very  forbidding  man — or  even  with  one  who  was 
inclined  to  be  familiar — what  would  you  have  done  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  should  have  turned  my  back  on  him  and  looked 
out  of  the  window." 

297 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  But  supposing  he  had  persisted  ?" 

*  I  should  have  requested  him  not  to." 

"  But  if  he  had  put  his  arm  around  you  ?" 

*  He  would  never  have  dared  to  do  that !"  said  Babs, 
flushing  angrily.    "  How  can  you  suggest  such  a  thing?" 

"  Because  there  is  an  extreme  probability  of  such  a 
thing  happening  under  the  circumstances  ;  and  I  tell 
you  so  frankly,  to  make  you  realize  the  risk  you  are 
running.  You  ought  not  to  be  travelling  alone." 

"  But  if  I  have  no  one  to  travel  with  ?"  she  said,  begin- 
ning to  put  on  a  new  pair  of  gloves. 

He  had  noticed  the  costly  simplicity  of  everything  she 
wore,  the  rustle  of  unseen  silk  when  she  moved,  the 
scented  leather  of  her  dressing-bag ;  and  these  things, 
with  her  manner,  which  was  a  compound  of  childish 
diffidence  and  easy  assurance,  the  manner  of  a  young 
girl  ignorant  of  the  world  and  accustomed  to  be  consid- 
ered, easily  enabled  him  to  place  her. 

"  I  cannot  think  that  you  have  no  one  to  travel  with," 
he  said. 

"  Bother  !"  said  Babs,  letting  a  handful  of  money  fall 
on  her  lap  in  her  struggles  with  her  gloves.  "  Alphonse 
must  have  lent  me  a  king's  ransom.  Just  look  at  the 
change !  I  wonder  how  much  he  gave  me  ?  I  never 
looked  at  the  note.  How  am  I  to  tell  ?  I  shall  have  to 
return  it  to  him." 

"  If  you  count  the  change,  and  add  the  railway  fare, 
you'll  arrive  at  the  amount,"  her  companion  suggested. 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  count  change  ;  would  you  mind 
doing  it  for  me  ?"  said  Babs,  handing  him  the  money. 
"  I  shouldn't  like  to  owe  that  little  beast  a  sou." 

"  Who  is  the  little  beast,  may  I  ask  ?" 

"  Oh,  my  singing-master.  I  had  no  money  for  the 
journey,  so  I  got  him  to  lend  me  some." 

Her  companion  finished  counting  the  money  before  he 
replied. 

298 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Your  music-master  lent  you  a  thousand  francs/'  he 
said,  looking  very  grave. 

"  How  ridiculous  !"  Babs  exclaimed.  "  I  only  just 
wanted  enough  for  the  journey." 

"  You  must  be  on  very  good  terms  with  your  singing- 
master." 

"  Oh  yes,  of  course,"  said  Babs.  "  He  gives  me  three 
lessons  a  week.  I  never  spoke  to  him  before,  though, 
about  anything  but  music.  I  never  had  a  chance  until 
yesterday — I  never  wanted  to,  either.  But  yesterday 
mademoiselle,  who  ought  always  to  be  in  the  room  when 
I'm  taking  my  lesson,  forgot  to  come.  Then  it  occurred 
to  me  that  I  might  get  the  money  for  the  journey  out  of 
Alphonse." 

"  Then  you  are  running  away  from  school  ?" 

"  Not  exactly,"  said  Babs.  "  I  am  just  going  home 
without  leave  to  see  how  my  brother  is — my  only  brother. 
I  heard  he  was  seriously  ill,  and  they  wouldn't  let  me  go. 
We're  great  chums,  Cute  and  I,  and  he's  very  delicate. 
What  would  you  have  done  if  you  were  me?" 

There  was  pathetic  inquiry  in  her  eyes  as  she  looked 
at  him,  and  he  thought  to  himself,  *  What  an  angelic 
face  !" 

"  It  is  hard  for  me  to  say,  not  knowing  all  the  cir- 
cumstances," he  answered,  gently. 

"  I  don't  know  how  it  is,"  said  Babs,  looking  at  him 
earnestly.  "  I've  just  met  you — I  ought  not  to  care — 
and  yet  I  don't  want  you  to  blame  me.  You  have  been 
blaming  me,  I  feel,  ever  since  I  tumbled  into  your  car- 
riage. Is  it  because  you  would  rather  be  alone  ?" 

*  No,"  he  hastened  to  assure  her.  "And  I  am  not 
blaming  you.  I  am  only  trying  to  make  you  under- 
stand that  you  are  doing  a  dangerous  thing.  I  blame 
your  friends  for  not  enlightening  you.  If  you  had  had 
any  idea  of  the  risk  I  feel  sure  that  you  would  not  have 
run  it.  It  is  monstrous  that  a  girl  of  your  age  should 

299 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

be  left  to  face  the  dangers  of  such  a  position  with  the 
ignorant  confidence  of  a  child." 

Babs  looked  at  him  vaguely,  not  at  all  understand- 
ing ;  but  she  scented  something  unpleasant,  and  sought 
instinctively  to  change  the  subject. 

"  Well,  I'm  not  likely  to  have  to  run  away  again,"  she 
said  ;  "  but  if  I  do  " — she  broke  into  a  smile — "  I'll  get 
you  to  run  away  with  me.  Now  let  us  talk  about  some- 
thing pleasant.  I  do  love  to  talk.  There  is  nothing  so 
delightful  as  conversation,  is  there  ?  Do  I  bore  you  with 
my  chatter  ?  But  even  if  I  do,  bear  with  me,  because  it 
won't  be  for  long.  We  shall  part  presently  and  never 
meet  again." 

"  Why  should  we  never  meet  again  ?" 

"  Oh,  people  who  meet  like  this  never  do,  do  they  ?  1 
don't  know  who  you  are,  and  you  don't  know  who  I  am, 
and  we  never  shall  know." 

The  train  began  to  slow  down. 

"This  is  Amiens,  I  think,"  he  said.  "We  shall 
have  twenty  minutes  here.  You  must  come  to  the 
buffet." 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Babs. 

"  I'm  very  sorry,"  he  insisted  ;  "  but  you  must — un- 
less you  mean  to  condemn  me  to  go  without  breakfast. 
I  cannot  let  you  out  of  my  sight  until  I  deliver  you  safely 
into  the  custody  of  your  friends." 

"  Now  that's  the  sort  of  thing  I  like,"  said  Babs,  beam- 
ing. "  I  like  a  man  to  take  the  ordering  of  me — the 
good  ordering,  of  course.  Do  you  know  what  I  mean  ? 
I  like  a  man  who  knows  what  to  do  himself,  knows  the 
right  thing,  and  knows  what  I  ought  to  do,  and  just 
tells  me  to  do  it.  But  I'm  afraid  if  you  carry  out  your 
determination  to  see  me  safe  home  it  will  take  you  a 
good  deal  out  of  your  way.  It's  just  the  kind  of  thing 
Cadenhouse  would  have  done." 

"  Cadenhouse  ?"  her  companion  echoed. 

300 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Yes — Lord  Cadenhouse.  Do  you  know  him  ?"  said 
Babs. 

"  Well  1  We  were  near  neighbors  as  boys,  and  went 
to  the  same  school." 

"Are  you  Jeffrey  Wylde  ?"  Babs  exclaimed. 

*  No." 

"  Who  then  ?"  she  wondered,  her  thoughts  running 
rapidly  over  every  likely  absentee  in  the  neighborhood. 
"  Mrs.  Normanton  has  a  brother  abroad — Sir  Owen  St. 
Lambert." 

"At  your  service,"  said  her  companion,  bowing. 

"  How  exciting  !"  said  Babs.  "  You  must  often  have 
been  at  my  house — Dane  Court." 

"  You  are  one  of  the  Kingconstances,  then,"  he  said. 

"  Yes — Lorraine." 

"  No,  surely.     Lorraine  is  much  older." 

"  Oh,  I'm  the  niece,  not  the  aunt ;  I'm  Babs." 

He  laughed. 

"  I  know  you  quite  well  by  name,"  he  said.  *  I  think 
I  must  have  seen  you  the  last  time  I  was  at  Normanton, 
some  years  ago  now — at  all  events,  I  heard  of  you.  So 
you  are  still  living  up  to  your  early  reputation,  Babs," 
he  admonished  her.  "  You  must  really  reform." 

"  With  your  good  help,"  she  said.  "Are  you  coming 
to  Normanton  now  ?" 

*  Yes." 

"  It  seems  to  be  quite  in  the  natural  order  of  events 
that  you  should  befriend  me,"  she  said.  "  We  haven't 
stopped,  it  seems." 

"  No,  but  we  can't  be  far  from  Amiens,  and  the  first 
thing  to  be  done  when  we  get  there  is  to  telegraph  to 
your  friends,  to  relieve  their  minds." 

"  '  On  my  way  home.  Quite  safe.  Travelling  with 
General  St.  Lambert. — BABS,'  "  she  rattled  off,  glibly. 

"  Or  words  to  that  effect,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  You 
will  have  a  bad  half-hour  when  you  arrive,  I  expect." 

301 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

Babs  fixed  her  eyes  on  futurity  and  looked  grave  for 
a  moment ;  then  she  laughed. 

*  You  must  come  and  see/'  she  said — "  indeed  you 
must.     I  won't  go  home  alone.     Come  and  see  me  take 
the  dilemma  by  the  horns.     Do  you  know  my  mother  ?" 

"  Yes.     We  met  frequently  in  days  gone  by." 

*  Then  you  can  imagine  what  the  scene  will  be." 

"  On  the  contrary/'  he  answered,!"  I  am  quite  at  a  loss." 

Babs  grinned. 

The  rest  of  the  journey  passed  without  incident ;  but 
the  recollection  of  it  remained  with  Babs,  a  tender,  hap- 
py .memory  always.  She  just  resigned  herself  to  her 
companion's  guiding,  and  let  him  make  things  pleasant 
for  her.  She  was  conscious  of  his  eyes  often  upon  her  ; 
she  appreciated  his  constant,  unobtrusive,  delicate  at- 
tentions ;  she  found  herself  at  her  best  with  him  ;  she 
felt  herself  very  much  in  love.  The  people  we  love 
soonest  are  always  those  with  whom  we  find  ourselves 
at  our  best. 

When  they  arrived  at  Dane  Court,  General  St.  Lam- 
bert was  much  the  more  nervous  of  the  two.  For  one 
thing,  knowing  the  dangers  of  such  an  escapade,  he 
took  a  much  more  serious  view  of  it  than  Babs  did. 

Since  the  first  telegram  had  arrived  from  Paris  an- 
nouncing the  disappearance  of  Babs,  and  the  second 
from  St.  Lambert  assuring  her  mother  of  her  safety, 
Mrs.  Kingconstance  had  worked  herself  into  what  was, 
for  her,  quite  a  fury.  Her  sister-in-law,  Mr.  Jellybond 
Tinney,  and  Mr.  Worringham  had  done  their  best  to 
soothe  her  ;  but  for  once  she  was  thoroughly  deter- 
mined to  deal  severely  with  Babs  for  her  misconduct, 
and  in  order  to  keep  herself  in  that  mood  she  refused 
sweetbread  for  luncheon,  and  would  not  hear  of  p&te-de- 
foie-gras  sandwiches  for  tea.  This  self-denial  was  of  lit- 
tle avail,  however,  owing  to  Babs's  habit  of  taking  the 
initiative  herself  in  times  of  trouble. 

302 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

She  burst  in  upon  the  party  at  Dane  Court,  attended 
by  a  distinguished-looking  gentleman,  just  when  she 
was  least  expected.  , 

"  Well,  mamma  I"  she  exclaimed — "  well,  mamma,  this 
is  a  nice  way  to  treat  me  !  My  only  brother  seriously 
ill,  and  there  was  I  left  in  Paris  without  a  word !  Why, 
I  actually  had  to  borrow  money  from  my  singing-master 
— from  a  wretched  little  French  worm  with  a  blacking- 
brush  head — to  bring  me  home !  That  was  a  nice  thing 
for  a  Miss  Kingconstance  to  have  to  do  !  And  I  should 
have  had  to  travel  the  whole  way  alone  if  it  had  not 
been  for  Sir  Owen  St.  Lambert — an  utter  stranger.  But 
really  it  seems  that  a  stranger  one  picks  up  on  a  railway 
journey  is  kinder  and  more  considerate  than  one's  own 
family." 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  was  dumfounded.  She  held  out 
her  hand  to  St.  Lambert,  but  for  a  moment  she  could  not 
speak. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say  !"  she  exclaimed,  at  last, 
looking  helplessly  round  at  her  little  court. 

"  I  should  say  all's  well  that  ends  well/'  Sir  Owen  vent- 
ured. 

"  But  is  this  the  end  ?"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  lamented. 
"  There  seems  to  be  no  end  with  Babs.  She's  always 
doing  something." 

"  Well,  mamma,  I  ask  you,"  said  Babs,  "  what  would 
you  have  done  in  my  position  if  your  mother  had  treated 
you  so  badly  ?  I  bet  you  would  have  run  away  too. 
I  had  to  run  away  ;  there  was  nothing  else  to  be  done. 
It  was  the  lesser  of  two  evils.  If  I  had  stayed  there  eat- 
ing my  heart  out  with  anxiety  I  should  have  had  con- 
sumption or  brain  fever,  or  something.  Heroines  al- 
ways do  if  they  don't  run  away." 

"  Whose  heroine  are  you  ?"  her  aunt  asked,  smiling. 

"  I'm  my  own  heroine,  of  course.  How  are  you, 
auntie  ?" 

303 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

Babs  went  up  to  her  and  kissed  her,  then  shook  hands 
with  both  the  vicar  and  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney. 

"  Come  now,  I  ask  you  all,"  she  said,  "  is  there  any 
use  prolonging  this  scene  ?  The  long  and  the  short  of 
it  is,  mamma  did  not  send  for  me  as  she  ought  to  have 
done,  so  I  had  to  come  here  as  best  I  could  ;  and  here  I 
am,  safe  and  sound,  thanks  to  Sir  Owen  St.  Lambert." 

"  I'm  sure  I'm  very  grateful  to  Sir  Owen,"  said  Mrs. 
Kingconstance.  "  Will  you  stay  for  dinner  ?"  she  add- 
ed, rewarding  him  involuntarily  with  the  offer  of  the 
thing  she  liked  best  in  the  world  herself.  But  Sir 
Owen  was  expected  at  Normanton. 

"  Then  come  to-morrow,"  said  Babs,  clasping  his 
hand. 

He  looked  down  into  her  face  for  a  moment  intently. 
Miss  Kingconstance  observed  the  look. 

"  Did  Sir  Owen  say  he  would  come  to  dinner  to-mor- 
row ?"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  asked,  when  he  was  gone. 

"  No,  he  didn't  say  ;  but  he  will  come,  I  assure  you/' 
her  sister-in-law  answered,  dryly. 

304 


CHAPTER    XXXIII 

BABS  rushed  up  to  Montacute's  room.     He  was 
lying  back  on  a  large  pillow  with  his  eyes  shut. 
A  nurse  was  sitting  in  the  window,  quietly  sew- 
ing.    Babs  stood  gazing  at  her  brother.     He 
looked  like  death. 

Presently  he  moaned  and  muttered  a  little,  then  opened 
his  eyes  and  looked  at  her  vaguely. 

"  Cute  !"  she  cried. 

The  nurse  rose  and  came  to  the  bedside. 

"  I'm  afraid  he  won't  know  you,"  she  said.  "  He's 
been  wandering  all  day." 

"  He's  really  very  ill,  then  ?"  said  Babs,  her  eyes  star- 
ing in  horror.  She  had  not  at  all  realized  that  there 
might  be  danger.  Like  her  mother,  she  was  too  accus- 
tomed to  Montacute's  periodical  seizures  to  be  easily 
alarmed  about  him.  She  had  been  prepared  to  sympa- 
thize, not  to  be  frightened. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  nurse,  with  professional  cheeriness, 
"  he  is  ill.  I've  seen  them  worse,  though." 

Babs  stooped  to  kiss  him.  He  stared  at  her  strangely, 
then  turned  his  head  impatiently  away. 

"  Better  not  disturb  him,"  said  the  nurse. 

Babs  sank  into  a  chair  beside  the  bed,  and  sat  gazing 
at  the  patient  in  an  agony  of  apprehension. 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  came  noiselessly  into  the  room 
and  stood  beside  her,  looking  utterly  dejected.     He  had 
made  up  his  mind  that  his  own  luck  depended  somehow 
upon  that  boy's  life,  and  he  was  far  from  hopeful, 
u  305 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Will  he  die  ?"  said  Babs. 

*  God  forbid  !"  Mr.  Jelly  bond  answered,  fervently. 

Babs  sat  some  time  ;  she  even  thought  she  would  stay 
all  night ;  but  Montacute's  feverish  mutterings  got  on 
her  nerves,  and  at  last  she  could  stand  it  no  longer  and 
took  refuge  in  her  own  room.  Hers  was  not  the  stuff 
that  night-nurses  are  made  of.  With  all  the  strength 
of  her  pleasure-loving  temperament  she  resented  the 
pain  of  the  position,  the  anxiety,  all  the  suffering  it  in- 
flicted upon  herself  to  see  him  so. 

Being  worn  out  with  the  journey  and  the  many  emo- 
tions of  the  day,  she  went  to  bed  as  soon  as  she  had  had 
something  to  eat,  and  slept  soundly  for  some  time  ;  then 
awoke  with  a  start,  and  was  immediately  conscious  of  a 
terrible  sense  of  misery.  It  was  the  most  distressing 
sensation  she  had  ever  had,  and  she  was  ready  on  the 
instant  to  do  anything  desperate  to  relieve  it.  She 
jumped  up.  To  whom  could  she  go  for  comfort  ?  Was 
there  any  way  to  ease  this  pain  ? 

For  answer,  as  it  seemed,  there  flashed  into  the  room 
from  across  the  valley  the  light  on  the  tower. 

"  Cadenhouse  !"  she  cried,  stretching  out  her  arms  to 
him. 

She  uttered  the  name  as  if  it  were  an  incantation,  and 
as  she  uttered  it  the  strong  feeling  she  had  always  had 
for  Cadenhouse  revived,  and  her  new  knight  vanished 
from  her  recollection. 

Having  dressed  hurriedly  in  knickerbockers  and  a 
short  walking-skirt,  she  left  her  room  ;  but  with  no  very 
definite  intention. 

To  her  surprise  she  found  the  lights  still  burning 
and  people  moving  about  in  the  house.  Looking  down 
into  the  hall,  she  saw  Benson  and  Clodd  and  the  first 
footman  hanging  about  with  the  air  of  people  who  are 
awaiting  an  event.  She  went  on  down  to  the  sick-room. 
The  door  was  half  open  ;  she  heard  Montacute  still 

306 


I   MUST   GET   OUT  INTO   THE  AIR;     I'M   SUFFOCATING' 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

moaning  and  muttering  incoherently.  Mr.  Jellybond 
Tinney  sat  beside  the  bed.  There  was  something  pa- 
thetically patient  in  his  attitude.  All  his  jauntiness 
was  laid  aside  ;  he  looked  older  and  more  worn  in  the 
dim  light  than  Babs  had  ever  seen  him  look.  The  nurse 
was  bending  over  the  patient.  She  straightened  her- 
self and  stood  as  though  in  doubt. 

"  Shall  we  alarm  his  mother  ?"  Mr.  Jellybond  asked, 

"  The  vicar  is  in  the  house,  is  he  not  ?"  she  answered, 
indirectly. 

"  Yes,"  he  said. 

"  It  might  be  as  well  to  have  the  prayers,"  she  said. 

*  It  can  do  no  harm,"  said  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney,  ris- 
ing, with  the  sense  of  relief  which  comes  of  finding  some- 
thing to  do  in  the  midst  of  a  painful  period  of  suspense 
and  inaction.  "  I  will  assemble  the  family." 

As  he  left  the  room  he  encountered  Babs. 

"  Is  there  no  hope  ?"  she  said,  wringing  her  hands. 

"  Where  there  is  life  there  is — er — "  he  began  mechan- 
ically ;  but  only  the  obvious  came  to  him,  and,  even  at 
that  moment,  he  could  not  be  obvious,  so  he  left  the  old 
saw  to  speak  for  itself. 

"  You  mustn't  assemble  me,"  Babs  protested.  "  Don't 
tell  them  I'm  up.  I  couldn't  stand  the  prayers.  I  must 
get  out  into  the  air  ;  I'm  suffocating." 

She  clutched  at  her  chest  as  she  spoke,  as  though  to 
tear  out  the  pain,  and  fled,  all  her  impulse  being,  not  to 
help  others,  but  to  do  something  for  herself. 

Babs,  having  no  knowledge  of  life,  was  at  the  mercy 
of  her  instincts  ;  and  her  instinct  now  was  to  fly  to  Ca- 
denhouse.  The  light  burned  bright  on  the  tower.  There 
was  distraction  in  the  excitement  of  getting  there  ;  and 
once  there — but  she  did  not  trouble  herself  to  define. 

Avoiding  the  servants  by  going  down  a  back  stair- 
case, she  let  herself  out  by  a  window  on  the  ground  floor 
and  made  for  the  stable-yard.  There  was  a  light  in  the 

3°7 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

harness-room,  and  the  door  was  open  ;  but  nobody  was 
about.  She  seized  saddle  and  bridle  and  whip,  and 
crossed  to  the  far  end  of  the  yard,  where  the  saddle- 
horses  were  stabled.  Here  again  a  light  was  burning, 
and  the  door  was  unfastened.  One  horse  stood  ready 
saddled  in  its  stall,  another  significant  sign  of  some- 
thing untoward  impending.  Her  impulse  to  fly  from 
the  dreadful  event  was  redoubled  by  the  sight.  She 
slipped  her  saddle  on  to  Julia's  little  Arab,  put  on 
the  bridle  in  her  haste  without  removing  the  halter, 
mounted,  and  rode  away.  The  horse  might  be  missed, 
of  course,  and  so  might  she  ;  but  what  did  that  matter  ? 
Nobody  was  likely  to  trouble  about  anything  in  the  way 
of  irregularities  much  at  such  a  time  ;  and  the  fact  that 
she  had  on  a  walking-dress  would  be  accepted  as  proof 
that  she  had  not  gone  out  of  the  grounds.  Mrs.  King- 
constance's  own  reverence  for  the  conventions  was  so 
deep  that  she  did  not  readily  suspect  any  one  else  of  sin- 
ning against  them — at  all  events,  to  the  extent  of  riding 
on  the  high-road  in  a  walking-dress. 

Cadenhouse  was  in  the  lower  stage  of  the  tower,  in 
the  great  apartment  in  which  he  spent  so  much  of  his 
time.  He  had  just  stooped  to  adjust  the  wick  of  a  lamp 
that  was  flaring  when  Babs  opened  the  door  and  walked 
in. 

She  had  no  hat  on,  and  looked  like  a  dishevelled  an- 
gel, with  her  fair  hair  loose  about  her  head,  her  cheeks 
flushed  by  the  night  air  and  the  excitement  of  the 
ride,  her  sweet  ejres  full  of  entreaty  and  pain.  Caden- 
house stood  staring  at  her,  too  astonished  at  first  to 
speak. 

"  Oh,  Cadenhouse,  isn't  it  dreadful  ?"  she  cried.  "  Do 
help  me  !  I'm  in  great  trouble — Montacute,  you  know. 
They  think  he's  going  to  die.  They're  saying  prayers 
over  him  now.  Be  kind  to  me,  Cadenhouse  ;  I'm  dis- 
tracted." 

308 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Poor  little  girl  I"  said  Cadenhouse,  compassion  com- 
ing before  every  other  consideration. 

He  went  forward  with  outstretched  hands  to  meet  her. 
Babs  put  her  arms  round  his  neck. 

"  Don't  push  me  away,"  she  said.  "  Don't  be  horrid 
to  me.  I  must  have  some  human  prop  and  stay.  The 
pain  of  it  is  awful.  I  can't  even  cry." 

She  laid  her  head  on  his  shoulder  with  a  dry  sob. 

"  Poor  little  girl  !"  Cadenhouse  repeated,  putting  his 
arm  round  her  and  smoothing  her  hair  caressingly. 

He  was  a  simple,  earnest  gentleman,  a  recluse  by 
habit  rather  than  by  nature,  a  man  of  high  ideals,  with- 
out the  slightest  sense  of  humor.  Babs's  appeal  was 
the  appeal  of  a  child  to  him,  of  a  child  in  trouble  ;  and 
he  responded  to  it  now  as  he  would  have  responded  years 
before.  He  had  been  taken  completely  by  surprise,  and 
had  had  no  time  to  reflect  that  Babs  was  a  child  no 
longer. 

The  light  caress  soothed  Babs.  A  sense  of  physical 
well-being,  of  warmth  and  comfort,  gradually  began  to 
take  possession  of  her.  She  heaved  a  little  sigh  of  sat- 
isfaction, and  nestled  closer.  The  present  moment  was 
always  sufficient  for  Babs  ;  had  it  been  her  last,  she 
would  have  lived  it  pleasantly  if  she  could. 

"  Let  us  sit  down,"  she  said.  "  It  does  me  good  just 
to  be  near  you." 

When  she  had  spoken,  she  kissed  his  neck.  The 
touch  of  her  warm  lips  sent  a  thrill  through  Cadenhouse. 

"  Why  do  you  shudder  ?"  she  said.  "Are  you  cold  ? 
No,  you're  not  cold.  Your  cheek  is  quite  hot.  You 
might  kiss  me,  I  think." 

She  looked  up  at  him,  half  smiling,  half  pouting.  Ca- 
denhouse bent  his  head  and  pressed  his  lips  to  hers. 

"  I'm  glad  I  came,"  she  said,  softly.  "  I  don't  suffer 
any  more  now.  Do  you  know  that's  the  first  time  you've 
kissed  me  since  I've  been  grown  up  ?  You  used  to  kiss 

309 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

me  always  when  I  was  quite  a  little  child  ;  then  you  left 
off,  and  ever  since  I've  wanted  to  kiss  you.  I  knew  it 
wouldn't  be  anything  like  kissing  a  woman,  and  it  isn't. 
You  kiss  a  woman  anywhere,  and  are  glad  to  get  it 
over ;  but  I  kiss  you  on  the  lips — so — and  it's  somehow 
different,  though  I  can't  tell  how." 

The  words  brought  Cadenhouse  to  his  senses.  He 
put  her  away  from  him  almost  roughly. 

"  Babs,  you  shouldn't  have  done  this,"  he  said.  "  You 
ought  not  to  have  come  here ;  you  are  no  longer  a 
child." 

"  Oh,  Cadenhouse,  how  horrid  of  you,  when  I'm  so 
miserable  !"  she  exclaimed,  wringing  her  hands.  "And 
just  after  being  so  kind,  too,  and  helping  me,  and  caress- 
ing me.  You  trample  on  my  love  for  you." 

Cadenhouse  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  perturbed. 
Nature  had  meant  him  for  a  man,  but  his  own  idea  had 
been  to  thwart  nature  by  playing  the  part  of  an  angel 
on  earth.  Chassez  la  nature,  elle  revient  au  galop.  His 
impulse  was  to  take  the  girl  to  his  heart  again  ;  but  he 
was  too  much  a  man  of  honor  for  that,  now  that  he  was 
on  his  guard.  She  must  give  him  the  right. 

"  Do  you  really  love  me,  Babs  ?"  he  said,  returning  to 
her.  "  Will  you  marry  me  ?" 

Babs  hesitated. 

"  N — no,"  she  said.  "  If  we  were  married  it  would  be 
so  stupid — like  all  the  other  married  people.  No,  don't 
ask  me  to  marry  you,  and  live  in  your  house,  and  all 
that.  Let  me  love  you  like  this,  Cadenhouse." 

She  stretched  out  her  arms  to  him,  but  he  turned  away 
from  her. 

"  Babs,  you  should  not  have  kissed  me  if  you  were  not 
prepared  to  marry  me,"  he  began. 

"  Why  not  ?"  she  interrupted.  "  I  shall  always  want 
to  kiss  the  people  I  care  about.  There  was  a  man  in  the 
train  yesterday — we  travelled  all  the  way  from  Paris 

319 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

together — and  he  looked  after  me  and  was  so  nice — Mrs. 
Normanton's  brother,  Sir  Owen  St.  Lambert.  Before 
the  journey  was  half  over  I  loved  him,  too,  almost  as  I 
love  you.  I  should  have  been  quite  glad  if  he  had 
kissed  me." 

"  He  didn't  kiss  you  ?"  Cadenhouse  exclaimed,  with  a 
jealous  flash. 

"  No.     I  tell  you  I  should  have  been  glad  if  he  had." 

Cadenhouse  threw  himself  into  a  chair  and  covered 
his  face  with  his  hands.  What  could  he  say  ? 

*  It  isn't  quite  the  same  thing  kissing  a  man  as  a 
woman,"  he  began  again — 

"  No,  you  don't  seem  to  kiss  in  the  same  way,"  she  an- 
swered. "  It's  nicer,  I  think.  You  are  the  first  man  I 
ever  kissed.  I  loved  it  when  you  kissed  me,  Cadenhouse, 
and  I  can't  understand  why  you  are  so  queer  about  it." 

"  Babs,  you  must  know  that  it's  not  right  to  kiss  men. " 

"  I  know  they  say  so,  but  they  will  never  tell  me  why. 
What  harm  is  there  in  it  ?  And  how  can  one  choose  a 
husband  until  one  knows  which  man  one  likes  to  kiss 
best  ?" 

"  What  am  I  to  say  to  you  ?"  Cadenhouse  exclaimed, 
in  despair.  "  You  said  just  now  I  was  the  first  man  you 
had  ever  kissed — " 

"  Yes,"  she  interrupted  ;  *  but  you  won't  be  the  last, 
you  know.  I'm  sure  I  shall  want  to  kiss  Sir  Owen  the 
next  time  I  am  alone  with  him." 

Cadenhouse  walked  up  and  down  the  room  again  in 
serious  perplexity.  It  was  evident  to  him  that  Babs's 
innocence  threatened  to  be  her  undoing  ;  but  how  was 
he  to  make  her  understand  why  a  girl  of  seventeen  must 
be  circumspect  in  the  matter  of  kissing  ? 

"  If  you  would  only  consent  to  marry  me  !"  he  ex- 
claimed. 

"  Do  you  love  me,  then,  so  very  much  ?"  Babs  an- 
swered, with  a  twinkle  in  her  eye. 

3" 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

Cadenhouse  was  silent.  An  hour  ago  the  notion  of 
marrying  Babs  had  never  entered  his  head.  He  could 
not  say  he  loved  her,  and  yet  at  that  moment  he  was 
fain  enough  to  marry  her ;  and  not  fo  chivalrous  mo- 
tives only,  although  he  felt  he  owed  her  his  name  for  the 
momentary  advantage  he  had  taken  of  her. 

"  I  don't  think  you  love  me,"  said  Babs. 

Cadenhouse  stood  before  her,  looking  down  at  her. 
She  was  sitting  on  a  couch,  her  face  upraised  to  his,  the 
delicate  oval  accentuated  by  the  attitude,  and  the  ex- 
pression all  animated  by  the  excitement  of  the  discus- 
sion. 

"  On  my  word,  I  don't  know  whether  I  love  you  or 
not,"  he  said.  "  But  I  know  that  I  ought  not  to  have 
kissed  you  under  the  circumstances,  and  I  apologize." 

"  Oh,  Cadenhouse  !"  Babs  exclaimed,  genuinely  hurt, 
"  is  that  a  nice  thing  to  do  ?  You  apologize  because 
you  loved  me  for  a  moment  well  enough  to  kiss  me  !" 

"  I  apologize  because  I  did  not  love  you  at  the  moment 
with  the  love  that  would  have  justified  that  kiss.  Take 
my  word  for  it,  that  kiss  was  an  insult.  I  am  telling 
you  so  brutally  to  save  you  from  tempting  another  man 
as  you  tempted  me." 

Babs  looked  puzzled  and  distressed 

"  I  cannot  understand  what  all  this  fuss  is  about,  nor 
why  you  are  scolding  me,"  she  said.  "  If  you  didn't 
want  to  kiss  me,  why  did  you  kiss  me  ?  I  should  like  it 
much  better  if  you  would  take  me  in  your  arms  and  kiss 
me  again.  I  suppose  you  would  if  I  said  I'd  marry  you." 

Cadenhouse  hesitated  a  moment,  then  sat  down  beside 
her,  and  put  his  arm  round  her.  His  whole  countenance 
had  changed.  Pent-up  passion  glowed  in  his  eyes. 

"  You  will  marry  me  ?"  he  whispered. 

Babs  raised  her  lips  to  his. 

That  second  kiss  tingled  through  every  vein  of  the 
recluse. 

312 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  God,  what  a  moment  !"  he  breathed. 

Babs  seemed  to  sink  closer  into  his  embrace.  Inno- 
cence is  a  flower  which  the  Church  has  cultivated  at  the 
instigation  of  the  devil  for  the  betrayal  of  honorable 
souls.  Cadenhouse's  senses  had  known  no  blunting 
experience,  and  the  girl's  unsuspicious  abandonment  of 
herself  to  his  kisses  was  complete.  A  sudden  sound 
startled  her. 

"  What  was  that  ?"  she  exclaimed. 

"  What  ?    I  heard  nothing." 

*  Hush  !    Listen  !" 

All  about  them  it  had  been  intensely  still  until  now, 
when,  from  afar  off,  yet  clearly  and  with  weight,  there 
fell  upon  their  ears  the  toll  of  a  passing  bell — just  one 
heavy  stroke,  then  silence. 

For  many  seconds  they  sat  there,  listening.  The 
same  thought  was  in  the  mind  of  each.  They  waited 
involuntarily.  It  came  again  up  to  the  high  tower, 
deep-toned,  significant. 

Babs  looked  at  Cadenhouse. 

"  Montacute  !"  she  ejaculated. 

While  they  had  been  philandering  ! 

They  suffered  a  complete  revulsion  of  feeling  at  the 
thought. 

"  We  don't  know,"  Cadenhouse  said.  "  But  let  me 
take  you  home  in  any  case." 

*  No,  no,"  she  cried.     "  Let  me  go  as  I  came.     I  beg 
you  will." 

Cadenhouse  was  too  courtly  to  insist. 
"  I  shall  be  with  you  early,"  he  said.     "  You  will  want 
me,  won't  you — Lorraine  ?" 

*  Oh  yes,"  said  Babs,  indifferently.     She  had  hardly 
heard  what  he  was  saying. 

When  she  had  gone  he  threw  himself  into  a  chair 
and  sat  there,  with  closed  eyes  and  tingling  senses,  un- 
conscious of  time,  a  prey  to  unexpected  emotion. 

313 


CHAPTER    XXXIV 

WHEN  Babs  rode  into  the  yard  the  dawn  had 
broken,  the  birds  were  singing,  and  Clodd 
stood  sentry  at  the  stable  door. 

"  It's  all  right,  miss,"  he  said,  confiden- 
tially. "  I  knowed  it  must  'a'  bin  yew  as  'ad  took  the 
'orse,  and  I  lied  like  a  good  un.  I  said  it  was  Jellybond 
Tinney.  She's  a  bit  light  fur  'im,  but  'e's  not  reckoned 
to  know  nothing  about  'orses.  I  said  as  'ow  I'd  bin 
told  to  wait  up  fur  'im  myself  when  the  other  men  were 
sent  to  bed.  But  Jellybond  Tinney  'e's  still  in  the  'ouse. 
An'  lor',  miss,  'e's  in  great  feather  this  morning  !  'E 
thinks  it  were  'im  es  the  Lord  'card  when  'e  prayed  for 
the  young  master.  'E  reckons  'im  an'  the  Lord  'as 
saved  'im." 

"  Saved  !"  Babs  gasped. 

"  Yes,  miss.  The  crisis  was  to  come  at  daybreak, 
an',  just  before,  'e  fell  into  a  lovely  sleep.  'E'll  be  all 
right  from  now  ;  and  ole  Jellybond  Tinne3r,  miss,  'e's 
a-struttin'  and  a-crowin'  and  a-takin'  of  the  credit." 

Babs  controlled  herself  until  she  reached  her  own 
room.  Once  there,  she  sank  upon  the  floor  beside  her 
bed  and  wept  hysterically.  This  was  the  last  gasp  of 
the  various  emotions  she  had  experienced  during  the 
day  and  night.  When  she  appeared  again  she  was 
quite  serene,  and  ready  for  the  next  adventure.  The 
recollection  of  Cadenhouse's  kisses  suffused  her  with  a 
soft,  warm  glow.  But  there  was  the  awkward  fact  to 
be  faced  of  the  silence  which  she  had  allowed  him  to 

3H 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

take  for  consent  to  his  proposal.  Face  it,  however,  she 
would  not  until  she  was  obliged. 

Over  the  house  all  day  there  brooded  that  stillness, 
full  of  hallowed  thanksgiving,  which  follows  fast  upon 
fears  of  a  catastrophe.  Up-stairs  in  the  boudoir  Mrs. 
Kingconstance  and  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  sat  side  by 
side  on  a  sofa  holding  each  other's  hands. 

"  You  dear  man  !"  she  said.  "  How  can  I  thank  you 
enough  for  having  kept  the  dreadful  truth  from  me  so 
successfully,  and  saved  me  from  all  that  I  should  have 
suffered  had  I  suspected  that  there  was  danger  ?" 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney,  magnanimously  adopting  this 
view  of  his  attitude  during  Montacute's  illness,  silently 
pressed  her  soft  white  fingers  to  his  lips  in  evidence  of 
mingled  emotions. 

Down-stairs,  messages  were  pouring  in  from  the  gentry 
of  the  neighborhood.  Some  rode  over  in  person  to  make 
inquiries.  Among  these  was  Sir  Owen  St.  Lambert. 

Babs  received  him  in  the  Pompadour  drawing-room. 
From  the  panelled  walls  eighteenth-century  lords  and 
ladies,  playing  at  shepherds  and  shepherdesses,  smiled 
down  upon  them.  The  room  was  redolent  of  Watteau 
and  white  and  gold  and  delicate  colors,  pinks  and  greens 
and  blues  blending  delightfully  with  Pompadour  purple. 
It  had  an  atmosphere,  too,  that  room,  the  atmosphere  of 
the  period  it  mimicked — an  atmosphere  of  courtly  man- 
ners, distinguished  bearing,  love-making,  and  intrigue. 
Impossible  to  be  there  and  not  to  feel  it.  Such  things 
come  naturally  to  mind  in  such  surroundings,  and  as 
naturally  pass  from  thought  into  action. 

Babs  could  not  have  been  more  suitably  framed.  She 
looked  like  a  delicate  piece  of  porcelain  herself,  so  St. 
Lambert  thought,  with  the  blue-gray  of  her  eyes,  the 
white  and  pink  of  her  cheeks,  the  shining  gold  of  her 
hair,  and  the  green  of  her  dainty  dress 

"  It  seems  such  ages  since  I  saw  you,"  she  said. 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  That  is  good  news/'  he  replied.  "  It  shows  that  you 
have  missed  me." 

"  It  shows  that  a  good  deal  has  happened  since/'  said 
Babs. 

"  Oh  yes,  of  course,"  he  answered.  "  But  the  worst  is 
over  now,  happily." 

Babs  was  not  so  sure  of  that.  A  little  shiver  of  an- 
ticipation crisped  her  nerves  She  felt  the  intensity  of 
St.  Lambert's  gaze.  Cadenhouse  had  looked  like  that 
— had  devoured  her  with  his  eyes.  For  the  first  time 
she  realized  the  full  force  of  the  phrase,  and  commented 
to  herself  upon  the  fact.  She  was  deeply  interested  in 
her  own  sensations. 

They  were  standing  near  a  window,  and,  in  the  pause 
which  followed  his  last  remark,  St.  Lambert  looked  out. 
It  was  a  lovely  winter  morning.  Bright  sunshine  show- 
ed the  dewdrops  sparkling  on  every  twig.  Above  the 
trees  masses  of  snow-white  clouds  flecked  the  brilliant 
blue.  Down  in  the  hollows  the  mist  still  lingered,  and 
on  the  frosty  air  the  breath  of  the  deer  in  the  park  hung 
suspended.  A  horseman  who  was  cantering  up  the 
avenue  was  shrouded  in  mystery  by  the  steam  of  his 
steed.  In  and  out  among  the  trees  he  showed,  a  gal- 
lant figure,  splendidly  mounted. 

As  he  passed  beneath  the  window  he  looked  up.  His 
countenance  was  radiant. 

Babs's  heart  leaped. 

"  Who  is  this  ?"  said  St.  Lambert. 

"  Cadenhouse  !"  Babs  gasped. 

"  By  Jove,  yes  !  What  a  good-looking  fellow.  He's 
not  anticipating  bad  news,  I  should  say  !" 

"  Gracious,  how  my  heart  beats  !"  Babs  exclaimed, 
surprised  at  her  own  emotion. 

St.  Lambert  looked  at  her  hard  and  inquiringly.  Her 
color  came  and  went.  There  was  no  concealing  her 
agitation. 

316 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?"  he  asked,  all  the  lightness  gone 
from  his  voice. 

*  Nothing.  I  can't  breathe.  What  a  horrible  sensa- 
tion !" 

St.  Lambert  looked  from  her  to  the  horseman  coming 
up  the  drive.  Her  emotion  was  obviously  connected 
with  his  coming. 

"  I  had  better  go,  I  suppose,"  he  said. 

"  Oh  no,  no,  no !"  she  cried.  "  This  is  the  day  of  reck- 
oning. 1  daren't  face  him  alone." 

In  her  agitation  she  seized  St.  Lambert's  arm  to  de- 
tain him,  and  at  that  moment  Cadenhouse  entered  the 
room.  The  light  went  out  of  his  countenance  when  he 
saw  the  group.  He  stopped  short.  There  was  an  awk- 
ward moment.  Then  St.  Lambert  went  forward,  hold- 
ing out  his  hand. 

"  How  are  you,  Cadenhouse  ?"  he  said.  "  I  am  glad 
to  see  you  again." 

Cadenhouse  ignored  the  hand.     He  was  very  pale. 

"  Lorraine,"  he  said,  sternly,  *  what  am  I  to  under- 
stand ?" 

Her  quick  mind  leaped  to  his  suspicion  ;  but,  for  the 
life  of  her,  she  could  not  utter  a  word. 

Cadenhouse  misinterpreted  her  silence  and  her  emo- 
tion. 

St.  Lambert  looked  from  one  to  the  other  bewildered. 

Babs  was  suddenly  seized  upon  with  a  violent  inclina- 
tion to  laugh.  Her  sensitive  face  quivered  in  the  at- 
tempt to  control  herself.  She  dropped  into  a  chair  and 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

The  gentlemen  looked  at  her,  and  then  at  each 
other.  Each  waited  for  the  other  to  speak.  It  was  a 
deadlock. 

Babs  was  busy  analyzing  her  emotions.  The  inclina- 
tion to  laugh  passed  as  it  had  come.  She  began  to  feel 
the  gravity  of  the  situation.  The  silence  oppressed  her. 

317 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

She  looked  up  half  expecting  to  find  herself  alone.  She 
was  measuring  time  by  her  own  sensations,  and  it  seem- 
ed an  age  since  Cadenhouse  entered  the  room.  She 
jumped  up  desperately. 

"  Somebody  say  something !"  she  exclaimed.  "  I'm 
suffocating." 

"  Pray  let  me  withdraw,"  said  St.  Lambert. 

"  There  is  not  the  slightest  necessity,"  Cadenhouse 
answered,  haughtily.  "  I  understand  the  position  per- 
fectly. There  is  no  need  to  prolong — " 

He  turned  to  Babs  with  a  hard,  pale  face. 

"  I  am  sorry — er — to  have  arrived  at  an  inopportune 
moment,"  he  said. 

When  he  had  spoken  he  bowed  and  then  walked 
steadily  from  the  room.  But  in  the  way  he  did  it,  in 
his  whole  air  and  gait,  there  was  the  trouble  of  a  man 
hard  hit. 

"  But  —  but  " —  Babs  gasped,  convulsively,  clasping 
her  hands  to  her  chest — "  but  people  don't  go  like  that, 
do  they  ?  Would  you  have  thought  it  possible  that  he 
could  go  like  that  ?" 

St.  Lambert  stood  twisting  first  one  end  of  his  mus- 
tache and  then  the  other. 

"  Babs,"  he  said,  "  what  have  you  been  doing  ?" 

She  wrung  her  hands. 

"  You  saw  Cadenhouse  after  I  left  you  last  night  ?" 

She  did  not  deny  it. 

"  He  came  here  ?" 

She  made  no  sign. 

"  He  did  not  come  here  ?" 

Still  she  made  no  sign. 

*  He  did  not  come  here  ?"  St.  Lambert  concluded. 
"  Then  where  on  earth  did  you  meet  ?" 

Far  away,  above  the  trees  on  the  top  of  the  hill, 
the  tower  just  showed.  Involuntarily  Babs  glanced 
towards  it. 

318 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

St.  Lambert  caught  the  glance,  and  fell  to  twisting 
his  mustache  again.  He  looked  up  at  the  tower,  then 
down  at  Babs. 

"  But  Cadenhouse  is  an  honorable  man/'  slipped  from 
him. 

"  You  speak  as  though  there  was  a  doubt  in  your 
mind,"  Babs  said,  hotly.  "  Cadenhouse  is  an  honor- 
able man — the  best  man  in  the  world.  .  .  .  What  have 
I  done?  .  .  .  But  I've  not  done  anything  \" 

She  paused  upon  the  protest,  and  reflected  a  little. 

"  I  don't  know  why  it  hurts,"  she  said,  at  last  ;  "  but 
it  does.  I  don't  want  to  marry  him,  but,  oh,  I  do  want 
him  to  want  to  marry  me — as  he  did  ast  night  !  It  is 
horrible  of  him  to  throw  me  over  like  that  !" 

"  He  certainly  had  no  intention  of  throwing  you  over 
as  he  rode  up  to  the  house  this  morning/'  St.  Lambert 
said,  slowly,  pondering  as  he  spoke.  "  He  has  gone 
under  some  misapprehension." 

"  Yes,"  said  Babs,  in  a  low  voice.  "  He  is  gone  un- 
der a  misapprehension." 

"  But  can't  it  be  set  right  ?" 

"No,  no!"  she  exclaimed,  "he  should  have  trusted 
me.  And  yet  I  don't  know.  I  did  say — "  She  wrung 
her  hands.  "  Oh,  dear  !  oh,  dear !"  she  lamented.  "  I 
don't  feel  a  bit  about  anything  to-day  as  I  did  yester- 
day. ...  I  never  saw  Cadenhouse  like  that — so  precipi- 
tate, you  know.  Before,  one  always  felt  inclined  to 
give  him  a  push  to  make  him  go  quicker.  But  did  you 
notice — ?"  She  drew  herself  up  in  imitation  of  Caden- 
house's  gesture  as  he  had  left  the  room.  "  Wasn't  it 
tremendous  ?  I  never  saw  him  like  that  before — Mar- 
quis of  Cadenhouse,  Earl  of  Clon,  Baron  Demeyne — 
off  with  her  to  instant  execution.  That  was  the  kind 
of  thing  his  ancestors  did,  I  suppose,  when  they  caught 
their  marchionesses  kissing  ?  But  what  an  exit !  It 
was  magnificent !" 

319 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Truly,"  said  St.  Lambert,  light  breaking  in  upon  him. 
"  But  as  he  had  not  caught  his  marchioness  kissing — " 

"  He  thought  he  had,  though,  because  of  something 
I  said  last  night,"  she  rejoined.  "  There  he  goes !" 

She  sprang  to  the  window  and  flung  it  open. 

"  Cadenhouse  !  Cadenhouse  I"  she  called,  frantically. 

Checking  his  horse,  he  looked  up  at  her,  uncovered 
his  head,  and  sat,  a  model  of  grave  courtesy,  awaiting 
her  further  pleasure. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Lord  Cadenhouse,"  she  said, 
overcome  with  sudden  confusion.  "  I  ought  not  to  have 
stopped  you.  It  was  an  impulse." 

"  You  had  something  to  say  to  me  ?"  he  answered. 

"  Yes.  I  wanted  to  tell  you  you  were  mistaken — you 
wronged  me." 

Cadenhouse  turned  his  horse. 

*  He's  coming  back,"  said  Babs  to  St.  Lambert,  breath- 
lessly. 

Without  a  word  St.  Lambert  left  the  room. 

Babs  waited  with  her  hands  clasped  to  her  heart.  It 
was  beating  to  suffocation. 

Cadenhouse  glanced  round  when  he  entered,  as  if  he 
had  not  expected  to  find  her  alone.  The  light  had 
comj  back  to  his  countenance. 

"  You  tell  me  I  was  mistaken,"  he  said.  "  I  believe 
you,  Babs  ;  you  have  always  been  truthful.  I  trust 
you  implicitly.  But  when  I  saw  you  clinging  to  that 
man's  arm — " 

"  I  was  horribly  agitated,"  she  broke  in,  "  when  I  saw 
you  coming  up  the  drive  ;  I  don't  know  what  came  over 
me.  My  heart  began  to  beat  in  such  a  funny  way.  I 
never  felt  like  that  before.  And  he  saw  my  agitation, 
and  connected  it  with  your  coming.  And  he  was  going, 
and  I  said,  '  Don't  go  !'  I  don't  know  why.  I  didn't 
know  I  was  clinging  to  his  arm.  I'm  agitated  still.  I 
hardly  know  what  I'm  saying — " 

320 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

He  held  out  his  arms  to  her. 

"  Say  you  were  glad  to  see  me,"  he  said,  clasping  her 
close,  and  raising  her  face  and  looking  down  into  it  a 
moment  before  he  kissed  her. 

Babs,  soothed  and  satisfied,  became  herself  again. 
She  heaved  a  happy  sigh. 

"  Glad  !"  she  exclaimed.  "  Oh,  the  relief  it  is  to 'have 
you  back  !  I  never  in  my  life  suffered  as  I  did  in  the 
moments  after  you  had  left  me.  I  felt  so  horribly  hu- 
miliated." 

Before  he  could  reply,  the  door  behind  them  opened. 
It  was  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney.  He  blinked  like  one 
dazzled  by  a  strong  light,  and  then  withdrew  as  if  he 
had  not  seen  them. 

"  He  must  have  seen  us  !"  Babs  exclaimed. 

"  Hum  !"  said  Cadenhouse.  "  It  was  slightly  over- 
done. But  what  does  it  matter  ?  I  am  going  at  once  to 
announce — " 

"  Oh  no,  no  !"  Babs  interrupted.  "  I  shouldn't  care  a 
bit  about  being  engaged  to  you,  and  everybody  know- 
ing it,  and  all  that  horrid  business.  I  won't !" 

"  Now,  please  understand  this,  Babs/'  he  said,  and  it 
was  again  the  new  Cadenhouse  who  spoke,  the  man 
who  was  not  to  be  trifled  with — "  please  understand 
this  :  you  are  not  going  to  play  with  me.  You  accepted 
me  last  night." 

*  I  didn't  mean  to—" 

"  You  knew  I  understood  that  you  consented — " 

"  I  was  consenting  to  let  you  kiss  me." 

Cadenhouse  took  a  turn  up  and  down  the  room  im- 
patiently, then  came  to  a  standstill  in  front  of  her. 

"  It  was  only  your  vanity,  then,  that  was  wounded 
just  now  when  you  thought  I  had  gone  ?"  he  said. 

Babs  pouted. 

"  Babs/'  said  Cadenhouse,  pleadingly,  "  will  you  put 
aside  all  levity  ?  Will  you  be  serious  ?  This  means  a 
x  321 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

great  deal  to  me — nothing  has  ever  meant  so  much.  If 
you  really  love  me,  I  shall  be  the  happiest  man  on  earth  ; 
but  tell  me  " — he  took  her  by  both  hands,  and  drew  her 
to  him — "  tell  me.  If  you  have  the  slightest  doubt — " 

Babs  took  fright. 

"  I'm  all  doubt,"  she  gasped.  "  I  don't  know.  Give 
me  time." 

"  You  must  know,"  he  insisted. 

"  I  don't." 

"  Then  you  refuse  me  ?" 

She  was  silent. 

"  I  tell  you  I  will  not  be  played  with." 

"  You  frighten  me,  Cadenhouse,  you  are  so  stern," 
she  pleaded.  "  Why  have  you  suddenly  become  so  dif- 
ferent ?  So  long  as  you  kiss  me  and  pet  me,  we  are 
happy  together  ;  but  if  you  will  have  an  engagement, 
and  an  announcement,  and  goodness  knows  what — " 

He  dropped  her  hands. 

"  The  truth  is,  you  do  not  care  a  rap  about  me,"  he 
said.  "  You  are  an  unscrupulous  little  coquette." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Babs,  bridling. 

"  What  am  I  to  think  ?"  he  exclaimed. 

"  What  you  like,"  she  retorted. 

"  I  think  that  you  have  been  amusing  yourself  at  my 
expense." 

"  You  are  a  man  of  extraordinary  penetration,"  Babs 
snapped. 

Cadenhouse  took  another  impatient  turn  about  the 
room.  He  glanced,  without  seeing  them,  at  the  lord 
and  lady  shepherds  and  shepherdesses  that  smiled  down 
upon  him  from  the  white  panelled  walls.  His  face  was 
greatly  troubled. 

"  Lorraine,"  he  said,  at  last,  peremptorily,  coming  back 
to  her  as  he  spoke — "  Lorraine,  once  for  all,  will  you 
marry  me  ?" 

"  Don't  press  that  question  now,"  she  implored.  Her 

322 


BABS      THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

hesitation  arose  simply  from  a  natural  shrinking  to  com- 
mit herself  to  she  knew  not  what ;  but  he  did  not  under- 
stand it.  He  was  perfectly  primitive  in  that  it  never  oc- 
curred to  him  that  it  was  not  by  argument  but  by  wooing 
that  young  girls  are  won.  His  own  inclination  drove 
him  to  the  point  direct,  and  he  had  no  notion  that  a  more 
zigzag  method  would  have  answered  best  with  her.  He 
should  have  given  her  time  ;  but  he  insisted. 

Babs  turned  cold  ;  she  threw  herself  into  a  chair. 

"  I  cannot  marry  you/'  she  said,  positively. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  replied,  "  I  understand  that,  at  all 
events.  That  is  quite  enough." 

She  sat  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground.  There 
was  a  little  pause.  Then  she  heard  him  go.  She  wait- 
ed in  the  same  attitude,  listening.  Presently  there  came 
the  crunch  of  his  horse's  hoofs  on  the  gravel  below.  Still 
she  sat,  rooted  to  the  spot — sat  until  the  sound  had  died 
even  from  her  imagination. 

Then  at  last  she  looked  up  at  the  lords  and  ladies  and 
the  lambs. 

"  What  a  ghastly  sensation  !"  she  said.  "  Yet  what 
else  could  I  have  done  ?" 

But  the  lords  and  ladies  and  lambs  had  no  suggestion 
to  offer. 

323 


CHAPTER     XXXV 

BABS  did  not  see  St.  Lambert  again  for  a  week. 
During  this  time  she  devoted  herself  to  Monta- 
cute,  who  was  making  a  rapid  recovery.  Day 
and  night  she  suffered  a  cruel  agony  of  expecta- 
tion. She  could  not  believe  that  Cadenhouse  had  gone 
for  good.  His  habit  had  always  been  to  ride  over  ;  and 
again  and  again  she  fancied  she  heard  the  thud  of  his 
horse's  hoofs,  and  her  heart  stood  still.  And  often 
enough  she  had  heard  well,  so  far  as  the  horse  was  con- 
cerned ;  but  never  once  was  the  rider  the  right  one. 

She  caught  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  observing  her 
closely  one  day. 

"  Babs,"  he  said,  gently,  "  I've  seen  you  grow  up.  I 
can't  help  feeling  a  special  interest  in — will  you  permit 
me  to  say,  a  special  affection  for  you  ?  I'm  a  man  of  the 
wrorld,  and  I  know  when  to  hold  my  tongue ;  I  know 
better  than  to  see  things  which  I'm  not  supposed  to  have 
seen.  But  if  at  any  time  I  can  be  of  use  to  you  I  do  hope 
you  will  make  me  useful — if  it  be  only  as  a  target  to  talk 
at  when  talking  does  you  good." 

Babs  held  out  her  hand  to  him. 

"  I  understand,"  she  said,  simply.  "  I  haven't  always 
understood  you,  I  believe  ;  but  now  I  know  you  mean 
to  be  kind." 

"  That  is  my  intention  always,"  he  replied  ;  *  but  I 
make  my  mistakes,  like  other  men.  Sometimes  I  do 
what  seems  the  kindest  thing  at  the  moment,  but  the  ef- 
fect of  it  is  cruel  in  the  end."  He  was  thinking  of  the 

324 


BABS      THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

consequences  of  sundry  comforting  caresses  which  the 
recipients  had  mistaken  for  signs  of  serious  intentions. 
"  Still,  I  do  my  best.  '  Nothing  if  not  kind '  is  what  I 
want  to  earn  for  an  epitaph." 

After  he  had  spoken  he  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  Babs 
to  say  something. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  she  asked,  at  last,  irritably. 

"  Nothing,"  he  answered.  "  I  thought  you  looked 
anxious — as  if  you  expected  some  one." 

"  You  don't  expect  people  to  come  back  if  you  send 
them  away,  do  you  ?"  she  demanded. 

But  she  went  off  without  waiting  for  an  answer. 

No  !  she  could  not  take  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  into 
her  confidence.  Still,  she  found  his  evident  interest  in 
the  situation  a  sort  of  help.  Half  our  delight  in  our  own 
history  as  we  live  it  comes  of  our  confidences.  Those 
periods  when  we  have  much  to  say  and  many  listeners 
are  always  momentous. 

Every  night  she  drew  up  her  blinds,  but  never  once 
from  the  high  tower  did  the  light  shine  into  the  room. 
Lying  awake  on  her  bed,  wondering  at  her  own  anxiety, 
she  said  to  herself  :  "  He  must  have  been  a  great  deal  to 
me."  And  then  she  fell  to  examining  the  phrase  in  a 
kind  of  surprise  ;  all  such  phrases  came  to  her  just  then 
with  a  new  significance. 

At  first  she  did  not  think  at  all  of  St.  Lambert  ;  but 
after  a  while  she  remembered  him,  and  wished  he  would 
come.  Him  she  could  talk  to  about  Cadenhouse — he 
knew. 

As  it  happened,  he  did  not  know.  He  had  taken  it 
for  granted  that  they  would  make  up  their  differences  ; 
and  he  had  been  expecting  to  see  an  announcement  of 
their  engagement  every  day.  He  thought  he  would 
wait  for  that  before  he  went  again  to  pay  his  respects  to 
Babs.  Time  went  on,  however,  and  no  announcement 
appeared.  Then  one  day  the  news  came  to  Normanton 

325 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

that  Cadenhouse  had  suddenly  gone  abroad.  St.  Lam- 
bert wondered  what  that  might  mean,  and,  after  some 
cogitation,  he  determined  to  go  and  see  for  himself  if  it 
were  well  with  Babs. 

He  came  upon  the  family  at  tea.  There  was  a  hot 
d  scussion  going  on  at  the  moment. 

"  The  question  is :  am  I  to  be  sent  back  to  school  ?" 
said  Babs,  when  he  was  seated. 

She  spoke  in  her  usual  offhand  way  ;  but  there  were 
dark  circles  round  her  eyes  and  her  cheeks  were  pale. 
He  saw  that  she  had  suffered. 

"  I  say  no,"  she  proceeded.  "  I  have  done  with  school. 
I  mean  to  strike  out  in  a  more  original  direction  in  the 
way  of  education." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  want  so  much  education 
at  all,"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  plaintively  remonstrated. 
"  Look  at  Julia  !" 

Babs  groaned. 

"  Poor,  dear  Julia  !"  she  excla  med.  "  Why  should 
she  be  brought  into  the  discussion  ?  She  is  herself. 
Do,  for  goodness'  sake,  let  me  be  myself  also." 

"  But  what  do  you  want  ?"  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance, 
in  accents  of  despair. 

"  I  want  a  tutoress  of  my  own  choosing,"  said  Babs. 
"  One  of  those  new  university  women  of  the  world  who 
will  teach  one  things.  If  I  go  on  like  this,  knowing 
nothing,  I  shall  make  a  horrid  muddle  of  my  life  " 

"  What  an  idea!"  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance,  appeal- 
ing to  the  party. 

"  I  think  it  rather  a  good  idea,  do  you  know,"  said  St. 
Lambert. 

"  Oh,  do  you?" Mrs.  Kingconstance  exclaimed,  prompt 
to  come  round  to  any  view  of  the  subject  that  proceeded 
from  the  masculine  mind. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied  ;  "  but  I  think  so  more  particularly 
because  I  happen  to  know  just  the  kind  of  person  for  the 

326 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

purpose.  She  is  the  daughter  of  an  old  chum  of  mine, 
a  charming  and  accomplished  girl.  I  have  been  her 
guardian  since  her  father's  death,  and  have  seen  her 
grow  up." 

"  But  has  she  got  any  dreadful  new  ideas  ?"  Mrs. 
Kingconstance  bleated. 

"  No  dreadful  ideas,  certainly,  I  should  say,"  he  re- 
plied. "  But  she  is  a  woman  of  the  day.  Her  ideas 
are  the  ideas  of  her  own  time,  the  newest  and  the  best 
ideas.  You  will  allow  that  we  are  advancing,  I  sup- 
pose ?" 

"  Ye — s — s,"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  answered,  doubt- 
fully. "  But—" 

"  Don't  let  us  have  any  buts,  mamma,"  Babs  put  in, 
irritably.  "  Sir  Owen  seems  to  know  what  I  want.  Do 
let  the  lady  come  if  she  will.  If  it  doesn't  answer,  she 
can  go  again." 

Babs  got  up  when  she  had  spoken,  and  began  to  walk 
about  the  room  restlessly. 

"  Do  you  really  think  it  would  be  wise  ?"  Mrs.  King- 
constance asked  St.  Lambert,  confidentially. 

"  The  wisest  thing  in  the  world,  if  Barbara  Land  will 
undertake  .the  task,"  he  answered. 

The  suggestion  of  a  doubt  about  her  coming  made 
Mrs.  Kingconstance  keen  to  secure  the  lady.  And  so 
it  was  arranged. 

Babs  waited  anxiously  for  Barbara  Land's  arrival. 
What  she  expected  of  her  she  did  not  exactly  know  her- 
self ;  but  there  was  a  vague  idea  in  her  subconscious- 
ness  that  some  good — some  comfort — would  come  of  it. 

When  the  day  came  Babs  persuaded  her  mother  to 
let  her  drive  to  the  station  with  Sir  Owen  to  meet  Miss 
Land. 

It  was  one  of  those  bright,  clear  days  when  all  seems 
well  with  the  world.  They  were  in  an  open  carriage, 

327 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

and  as  they  drove  along  together  a  sense  of  soothing 
stole  over  Babs.     She  was  very  quiet. 

'Part  of  the  way  the  road  skirted  a  corner  of  Caden- 
house's  property,  and  at  one  point  his  high  tower  loom- 
ed above  them.  St.  Lambert  felt  Babs  sink  into  her- 
self as  they  approached  it.  She  gazed  up  at  it  silently. 
He  had  had  no  confidential  talk  with  her  since  Caden- 
house's  departure.  She  seemed  to  like  to  be  with  him, 
but  she  had  been  curiously  reserved. 

"The  tower  looks  lonely,"  he  remarked,  as  they  passed 
beneath  it 

Her  attention  quickened,  but  she  did  not  speak. 

"  A  house  seems  soulless  when  its  owner  is  absent," 
he  proceeded.  "  Cadenhouse  is  a  queer  fellow.  When 
he  was  a  little  boy  at  school — we  were  at  school  together, 
did  you  know  ? — I  was  in  the  sixth  when  he  was  in  the 
third  ;  there  is  a  difference  in  our  ages.  But  even  then 
he  had  a  reputation  of  his  own.  The  dignity  of  the  man 
was  latent  in  the  boy  ;  no  one  took  liberties  with  Caden- 
house. Something  exceptional  we  all  expected  him  to 
do,  and  I  confess  that  to  find  him  at  thirty-five  content 
simply  to  be  exceptional  is  a  disappointment." 

He  could  see  that  Babs  was  listening,  but  she  made 
no  answer. 

"  No  one  seems  in  the  least  to  know  where  he  has  gone 
to  now,"  he  observed,  tentatively. 

"  Gone  !"  Babs  ejaculated.     "  Has  Cadenhouse  gone  ?" 

She  seemed  greatly  shocked. 

"  Yes — didn't  you  know  ?"  he  answered,  casually, 
looking  in  the  opposite  direction  as  he  spoke. 

He  waited  long  for  a  reply  ;  but  he  did  wait — with 
his  eyes  still  fixed  on  the  distant  prospect.  He  knew 
that  there  was  a  conflict  of  some  kind  raging  beside 
him ;  but  he  thought  it  best  to  let  it  settle  itself. 

After  a  long  interval  Babs  spoke. 

"  Don't  you  smoke  ?"  she  said. 
328 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

Then  he  turned  to  her.  She  was  sitting  up  stiffly, 
but  there  was  nothing  rigid  in  the  expression  of  her  face. 
On  the  contrary,  there  was  a  look  of  appeal  in  her  eyes 
that  touched  him.  Her  hands  lay  in  her  lap  ungloved. 
He  took  them  both  in  one  of  his  own. 

"  We  are  not  going  to  treat  each  other  conventionally, 
are  we,  Babs  ?"  he  said.  "  We  didn't  begin  like  that, 
you  know.  I  don't  want  your  confidence — I  mean,  you 
mustn't  think  it  necessary  to  tell  me  everything  about 
yourself  ;  only,  if  you  ever  want  a  useful  friend,  you 
know — " 

He  broke  off  with  his  pleasant  smile,  pressed  her  hands 
gently,  and  restored  them  to  her. 

Babs  leaned  back  in  the  carriage  with  a  little  sigh,  as 
of  relief. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  were  recovering  from  a  long  illness,"  she 
said,  "  and  had  come  out  for  the  first  time  into  the  pure 
air  and  the  sunshine.  I  have  been  greatly  troubled — 
heart-sick,  that's  the  word.  How  oddly  one  tumbles 
upon  unknown  phrases  that  express  just  what  one  wants 
to  say  !  I  don't  know  that  I  ever  had  those  words  in 
my  mind  before — heart-sick;  but  that  is  what  I  have 
been.  I'd  like  to  tell  you  all  about  it ;  but  I  can't.  My 
trouble  all  along  has  been  that  I  cannot  speak." 

"  There  is  no  need  to  speak,"  he  said.  "  Let  me  say 
some  of  the  things  you  cannot  prevail  upon  yourself  to 
say.  You  were  engaged  to  Cadenhouse  for  a  little  ; 
then  you  had  a  disagreement,  and  Cadenhouse  took 
himself  off.  You  have  been  rather  expecting  him  to 
return  ;  but  he  seems  to  have  gone  for  good.  And  now 
you  are  going  to  be  philosophical." 

Babs  smiled  up  at  him  ;  and  as  she  did  so  she  passed 
through  one  of  her  swift  transitions. 

"  I  shall  certainly  not  trouble  myself  about  Caden- 
house while  you  are  here,"  she  said. 

There  was  invitation  in  her  eyes  as  she  spoke.     She 


was  starving  for  a  caress.  Babs  came  of  a  long  line  of 
women  who,  deprived  of  the  means  of  intellectual  de- 
velopment, had  been  obliged  to  live  upon  their  senses 
more  or  less  ;  women  who  had  all  been  domestic  pets  in 
their  time,  and  little  else  ;  and  now,  in  obedience  to  the 
hereditary  pressure  of  the  habit,  she  courted  caresses  as 
instinctively  and  as  innocently  as  a  much-loved  lap-dog 
or  a  comfortable  cat.  And  St.  Lambert,  taken  unawares, 
yielded  involuntarily.  Before  he  had  had  time  to  think, 
he  had  drawn  her  to  him  and  kissed  her  lips. 

Babs  nestled  closer,  all  her  being  a-purr  with  pleasure. 

So  they  drove  through  the  balmy  air — she  in  a  happy 
state  of  physical  satisfaction,  her  heart  beating  freely 
at  last  after  the  cruel  tension  of  so  many  days ;  he  in 
despair,  calculating  the  difference  between  forty  and 
seventeen,  and  anathematizing  himself  already  for  the 
folly  of  that  kiss. 

After  a  while  Babs  began  to  talk  in  the  frank  way  nat- 
ural to  her.  She  told  him  all  the  episode  with  Caden- 
house,  letting  him  see  plainly  enough  that  the  blame  of 
her  indiscretion  should  attach  not  to  her — for  it  was  in 
no  way  her  fault  that  she  should  have  the  instincts  of  a 
woman  with  only  the  knowledge  of  a  child  to  guide  her 
— but  to  those  who  were  responsible  for  her  ignorance. 

Had  the  drive  been  a  little  longer,  he  might  have  come 
to  consider  his  own  position  in  the  affair ;  but  the  car- 
riage pulled  up  at  the  stat  on  before  he  had  arrived  at 
that  part  of  the  subject,  and  he  was  obliged  to  postpone 
the  consideration  of  it  till  a  more  convenient  season. 

Barbara  Land  was  a  surprise  to  Babs  ;  she  had  not 
been  prepared  for  her  in  the  least.  She  saw  a  young 
and  elegant  woman  step  from  the  train  and  look  about 
her ;  a  woman  with  bronze  hair,  a  white,  transparent 
skin,  gray  eyes,  and  dark  eyebrows,  delicately  pen- 
cilled— details  which  struck  Babs  with  curious  distinct- 

330 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

ness,  although  she  was  not  habitually  observant  in  such 
matters.  Barbara  Land  made  an  instant  impression  of 
youth  and  health  and  strength  and  perfect  self-posses- 
sion. Hers  was  youthful  maturity,  such  as  one  sees  in 
works  of  art ;  she  was  at  once  a  woman  and  a  girl — a 
girl  in  years,  a  woman  by  grace  of  intellect.  Every- 
thing about  her  satisfied  ;  especially  her  voice,  which 
was  low  and  cultivated,  but  with  that  suggestion  of 
strength  in  reserve  which  her  whole  appearance  prom- 
ised. In  speaking  she  used  no  exaggerated  expressions, 
but  chose  the  words  which  best  expressed  her  meaning. 
This  gave  to  everything  she  uttered  the  charm  of  sin- 
cerity. It  was  a  delight  to  hear  English  spoken  as  Bar- 
bara spoke  it. 

She  was  a  new  specimen  to  Babs,  who  sat  and  contem- 
plated her  during  the  long  drive  home,  saying  little  her- 
self, absorbed  in  seeing  and  hearing. 

But  the  first  effect  of  Barbara  upon  Babs  was  not 
happy  ;  she  made  her  feel  small  and  trivial,  which  was 
humiliating,  and  disheartened  her  with  some  inexplica- 
ble foreboding  of  a  perfection  to  which  she  could  never 
attain.  Babs,  without  jealousy,  felt  that  her  own  little 
light  was  dimmed  by  this  radiant  vision.  St.  Lambert 
bowed  with  respect  to  Barbara,  and  Cadenhouse  doubt- 
less would  do  the  same.  They  might  play  with  Babs  ; 
either  of  them  might  marry  her  even  ;  but  this  was  the 
woman  they  would  both  adore. 

So  thought  Babs,  gazing  up  at  the  new  woman  on 
her  pinnacle,  and  not  yet  knowing  that  there  was  aspi- 
ration in  her  own  attitude  towards  her,  and  the  power 
to  rise  in  the  generous  recognition  of  her  worth. 

Mrs  Kingconstance  awaited  their  arrival  in  a  state  of 
trepidation.  Lady  May  had  been  with  her  that  after- 
noon, and,  on  hearing  of  the  new  experiment  in  the  way 
of  education  which  she  was  about  to  try,  had  said  enough 

331 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

about  "  those  dreadful  university  women,"  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  female  physique  by  the  higher  mathematics, 
what  men  think,  and  sundry  other  apposite  subjects, 
to  thrill  Mrs.  Kingconstance  with  the  fear  that  she  had 
compassed  her  daughter's  destruction  here  and  here- 
after, and  particularly  in  the  estimation  of  men,  by  al- 
lowing a  woman  of  the  school  to  which  Barbara  Land 
belonged  to  enter  her  house. 

"  You  do  not  want  your  daughter,  I  suppose,  to  be 
brought  up  to  be  an  ill-mannered,  self-opinionated,  ag- 
gressive woman  ?"  Lady  May  had  said,  sitting  up  stiff 
as  a  grenadier,  and  dominating  poor  Mrs.  Kingcon- 
stance by  that  intellectual  brutality  which  is  the  out- 
come of  the  very  faults  she  was  condemning. 

"  But  Sir  Owen  St.  Lambert  thinks  highly  of  Miss 
Land/'  Mrs.  Kingconstance  had  just  ventured  in  self- 
defence. 

"  Very  likely,"  was  the  dry  response.  "  You  know 
women  of  that  sort  always  have  a  certain  kind  of  man 
in  their  following — a  weak,  effeminate  sort  of  creature. 
Sir  Owen  St.  Lambert  is  a  nobody  of  that  kind  proba- 
bly. I  don't  know  him." 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  had  bridled  somewhat  at  that, 
but  only  to  the  extent  of  wishing  that  she  had  waited 
to  consult  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney.  He  had  been  away 
when  the  arrangement  was  made,  and  knew  nothing 
at  all  about  it. 

She  would  'ike  to  have  taken  Miss  Land  to  task  the 
moment  she  entered  the  house  ;  but  as  the  party  only 
arrived  in  time  to  dress  for  dinner,  that  was  impossible. 
For  there  could  be  no  question  with  Mrs.  Kingconstance 
as  to  which  of  the  two  risks  should  be  run  at  the  mo- 
ment, that  of  cold  soup,  or  of  the  introduction  of  ad- 
vanced ideas  into  the  household. 

But  she  had  such  a  dread  of  advanced  ideas  in  her 
mind  that  she  began  to  sound  Miss  Land  on  the  subject 

332 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

at  table,  in  the  interval  after  she  had  taken  her  soup  and 
while  she  was  waiting  for  the  fish. 

"  I  hope  you  have  none  of  those  dreadful  new  ideas 
about  women,  Miss  Land,"  she  said.  "  Men  dislike 
them  excessively." 

"  Surely  you  are  mistaken,"  said  Barbara  Land,  with 
gentle  malice.  "  Men  like  everything  that  is  new,  new 
women  especially." 

"  Oh,  but  women's  suffrage,  you  know,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing." 

"  You  are  not  for  the  suffrage,  then  ?"  said  Barbara, 
looking  about  her  for  a  means  of  escape  from  the  subject. 

"  Certainly  not  " 

"  You  feel  it  no  injustice  that  your  gardeners  should 
have  a  vote  while  you  have  none  ?" 

"  My  gardeners,"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  echoed  vaguely, 
her  mind  roaming  about  the  notion  suggested  for  a  mo- 
ment, searching  for  an  objection  ;  for  since  it  was  so, 
she  felt  sure  it  must  be  right.  "  My  gardeners,"  she 
repeated — "  oh,  but  they  are  such  nice  men  !  I  am  sure 
they  will  all  vote  conservative." 

"  What  do  you  th'nk  of  that  for  a  reason  ?"  Babs  said 
to  St.  Lambert,  beside  whom  she  was  sitting.  "  I've 
dropped  my  serviette  :  where  is  it  ?"  she  rattled  on. 

"  Babs,"  her  mother  remonstrated.  "  Don't  say  ser- 
viette. It  is  positively  genteel." 

"  Whose  legislation  is  that  ?"  said  Babs.  "  But,  any- 
way, I  don't  care  whose  it  is.  I  like  the  word  best,  and 
I  shall  use  it.  Napkin  reminds  me  of  Simon  Peter  on  a 
sacred  occasion  ;  and  with  that  in  my  mind,  I  really 
cannot  use  the  word  every  day  at  dinner." 

"  Really,  Babs,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed — "  her  moth- 
er began. 

"  I've  lost  all  sense  of  shame,"  Babs  interrupted,  cheer- 
fully. "  I  was  convicted  of  spelling  apology  with  two 
p's  the  other  day,  and  I  didn't  squirm  a  bit." 

333 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  But,  Babs,"  her  mother  persisted,  "  you  know  how 
greatly  I  dislike  irreverence.  Miss  Land,  I  hope  you 
are  not  irreverent  ?" 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Barbara. 

"  What  is  your  religion,  may  I  ask  ?" 

"  I  can  hardly  give  it  a  name,"  said  Barbara,  yielding 
to  the  catechism.  "  To  me  any  idea  that  one  lays  hold 
of  religiously,  with  a  view  to  making  i.  an  aid  to  a  higher 
life,  is  religion.  I  believe  that  God,  who  knows  the  dif- 
ficulty o  transmitting  even  His  own  messages  from  one 
to  another  of  us  by  way  of  our  finite  faculties,  vouch- 
safes to  each  of  us  a  separate  revelation." 

"  Then  you  do  not  go  to  church  ?"  Mrs.  Kingcon- 
stance  exclaimed. 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  am  fond  of  church.  There  is 
soothing  in  the  services.  Where  people  have  worshipped, 
feeling  reverent,  the  sentiment  lingers.  I  have  felt  it  in 
the  temple  of  a  hideous  painted  idol  in  Japan." 

"  But  are  you — are  you  for  the  disestablishment  of  the 
Church  ?"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  ventured. 

"  I  am  neither  for  nor  against,"  said  Barbara  Land, 
"  because  I  do  not  know  what  the  consequence  would  be. 
The  Church  system,  with  all  its  faults,  is  a  part  of  the 
best  life  of  the  nation  ;  the  influence  for  good  of  the 
clergy  is  great  ;  and  I  am  sure  it  would  be  a  sad  day  for 
England  were  anything  done  to  destroy  their  influence, 
especially  before  something  better  has  been  found  to 
supersede  it." 

"  Are  you  speaking  of  the  High  Church  party  ?"  Miss 
Kingconstance  asked. 

"  No,  the  high-minded  Church  party,"  Barbara  an- 
swered. "  We  want  no  rule  of  the  priest  here." 

"Oh,  but  a  pretty  church,"  Mrs.  Kingconstance 
pleaded,  "  with  flowers  and  incense,  and  all  that — don't 
you  think  it  a  help  ?" 

"  All  that  implies  the  rule  of  the  priest,"  said  Barbara 

334 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

Land  ;  "  and  that  we  women  will  not  have.  No  one 
shall  come  between  us  and  our  God." 

"  If  that  be  your  attitude  now  towards  the  priest,  his 
day  is  done,"  said  St.  Lambert.  "  In  the  days  of  your 
captivity  it  was  said  that  the  priest  was  the  parasite  of 
women." 

"  Now  we  like  a  man  to  be  a  man,"  said  Barbara 
Land. 

"  Well,  I  think  religion  is  an  attitude  of  mind  more 
than  a  matter  of  creed,"  said  Miss  Kingconstance  ;  "  and 
anything  which  helps  us  into  that  attitude  of  mind 
should  be  encouraged." 

"  There  I  am  with  you,"  Barbara  said  ;  "  but  sensu- 
ous services  do  not  help  us  into  that  frame  of  mind,  if 
we  are  to  judge  of  them  by  their  final  effect.  Wherever 
you  come  upon  the  Puritan  stock  you  find  truth,  plenty, 
and  peace  ;  but  upon  the  rule  of  the  priest  there  follows 
a  blight.  The  spirit  serves  the  Puritan  ;  only  the  senses 
serve  the  priest." 

There  was  a  silence  after  this.  In  broaching  these 
subjects,  Mrs.  Kingconstance  had  had  a  stimulating 
consciousness  that  she  was  talking  clever.  Improving 
conversation  was  her  fad  just  then  ;  she  thought  it  so 
right,  she  said,  on  account  of  the  girls. 

But  her  attention  had  wandered  now  to  an  excellent 
entree.  As  she  disposed  of  it  she  also  disposed  of  all  in- 
clination to  controversy.  She  found  Barbara  Land  an 
agreeable  person  both  to  look  at  and  to  speak  to  ;  and 
she  began  to  flatter  herself  that  her  own  judgment  was 
quite  as  good  as  that  of  Lady  May,  and  her  own 
chosen  adviser  in  the  matter,  St.  Lambert,  a  much 
more  reliable  guide. 

"  You  are  not  in  the  least  the  sort  of  person  I  ex- 
pected to  see,  Miss  Land,"  she  remarked,  smiling  gra- 
ciously. 

"  Ah,  I  know !"  said  Barbara,  responding  to  the  smile. 

335 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

*  Some  one  has  been  trying  to  create  a  pre,udice.  Get 
into  a  new  set,  and  there,  at  once,  you  find  your  enemies 
ready  made." 

"  The  Old  Woman — in  the  new  conception  of  the  word," 
St.  Lambert  said,  "  would  give  anything  to  have  done 
what  the  New  Woman  has  done,  to  be  what  the  New 
Woman  is,  but  cannot  forgive  her  for  what  she  has  done 
and  is." 

"  But  what  is  the  New  Woman,  after  all  ?"  Mrs.  King- 
constance  asked. 

"  The  New  Woman  is  just  the  Old  Woman  with  every 
good  quality  a  little  better  developed,"  St.  Lambert  re- 
plied. "  Florence  Nightingale,  for  instance.  She  was 
the  newest  of  New  Women  in  her  own  day,  and  was  plen- 
tifully bespattered  with  mud  on  that  account ;  but  now 
we  are  ready  to  canonize  her.  Josephine  Butler,  too — 
any  of  them  who  have  stood  up  bravely  and  fought  for 
a  principle,  regardless  of  the  brickbats  flung  at  them  by 
gross  men  and  the  stabs  of  ill-conditioned  women." 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  went  to  rest  with  an  easy  mind 
that  night  ;  but  next  morning — perhaps  because  there 
had  been  more  of  that  excellent  dinner  than  was  neces- 
sary for  nourishment,  and  the  idle  surplus  had  been 
getting  into  mischief  in  her  system — at  any  rate,  she 
awoke  with  distinct  misgivings  and  sent  for  Miss  Land 
as  soon  as  she  had  dressed. 

"  Miss  Land,"  she  said  "  you  have  come  here  to  help 
my  daughter  with  her  studies,  and  I  want  you  to  under- 
stand clearly  that  you  are  only  to  occupy  yourself  with 
the  cultivation  of  her  mind.  I  will  no  have  her  enlight- 
ened on  any — any  disagreeable  subject,  you  know. 
There  must  be  no  talk  of  love  and  lovers,  or  anything 
of  that  sort.  So  far  as — as  all  that  is  concerned,  she  is 
perfectly  innocent — a  babe,  in  fact ;  and  my  earnest 
wish  is  that  she  should  remain  so.  ...  But  you  have 

336 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

such  a  nice  face,  and  you  are  so  womanly  and  so  lady- 
like, I  cannot  think  that  you  know  anything  yourself 
about — about  things  that  you  should  not  know  any- 
thing about." 

"  I  hope  not/'  said  Barbara  Land. 
Y  337 


JW 


CHAPTER     XXXVI 

R.  JELLYBOND  TINNEY  had  gone  away  for 
a  short  time  to  settle  some  business  in  London, 
as  he  told  Mrs.  Kingconstance  when  he  took 
leave  of  her.  On  his  return  he  determined  to 
propose  without  any  more  shilly-shally,  and  he  hur- 
ried to  Dane  Court  without  loss  of  time  to  carry  out  his 
intention.  He  meant  to  catch  Mrs.  Kingconstance  on 
her  return  from  her  drive  for  afternoon  tea ;  but  she 
was  still  out  when  he  arrived. 

Some  one  was  singing  in  the  drawing-room.  It  was 
a  strange,  sweet  voice  such  as  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney, 
who  understood  music,  had  not  heard  in  that  house  be- 
fore. Babs  had  a  beautiful  birdlike  treble,  like  a  boy's, 
pure  and,  as  yet,  passionless  ;  but  this  was  a  rich  mez- 
zo-soprano, produced  to  perfection,  sympathetic,  vibrat- 
ing with  emotion — the  voice  of  a  woman  in  her  prime. 
Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  went  to  the  great  drawing-room 
straight,  as  if  he  had  been  called. 

Barbara  was  singing  to  Babs,  who  was  lying  on  a 
sofa,  sensuous  little  animal  that  she  was,  revelling  in 
the  music. 

The  singing  ceased  just  as  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  en- 
tered the  room. 

Babs  heaved  a  big  sigh. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  it's  earth  or  heaven,"  she  ex- 
claimed. 

"  Neither  do  I,"  said  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney. 

They  had  not  heard  him  enter  the  room.  Barbara 

338 


"BARBARA  WAS  SINGING  TO  BABS' 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

turned  round,  and  Mr  Jellybond  Tinney,  seeing  a  face 
that  matched  the  voice,  gazed  incontinently,  and  forgot 
to  bow. 

"  Go  on,  Barbara,"  Babs  urged.  "  Oh,  I  forgot.  Man- 
ners !  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Jellybond  ?  Ladies  needn't 
get  up  to  shake  hands — though  I  confess  it's  nicer  when 
they  do  ;  more  gracious.  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney — Miss 
Barbara  Land  ;  Miss  Barbara  Land — Mr.  Jellybond 
Tinney.  There  !  It's  more  hospitable  to  introduce. 
Now,  go  on,  Barbara,  do ;  there's  a  dear  !  Mr.  Jelly- 
bond  Tinney  loves  music.  Mr.  Jellybond,  don't  inter- 
rupt. Just  sit  down  there  like  a  good  man,  where  you 
can  hear,  see,  and  adore." 

"  The  heart  of  man  could  desire  naught  better,"  he 
answered,  fervently. 

When  Mrs.  Kingconstance  came  in,  she  found  him 
in  that  attitude  ;  but  she  paid  no  special  attention  to 
him.  She  had  encountered  Lady  May  on  the  road,  and 
brought  her  back  with  her  to  inspect  Miss  Land. 

"  You  are  quite  mistaken  about  her,"  she  had  said, 
triumphantly.  "  She  is  anything  but  hard  and  aggres- 
sive. She  is  very  gentle  and  womanly,  and  quite  a 
beauty." 

*  Oh  !"  Lady  May  had  snorted.     "  Then  she  is  the 
very  worst  kind  of  New  Woman." 

Babs  closed  her  eyes  when  Lady  May  entered  the 
room,  and  tried  to  think  of  something  to  say  to  shock 
her. 

"  Lorraine  !"  her  mother  exclaimed.  "  Don't  you  see 
Lady  May  ?  What  are  you  thinking  about  ?" 

Babs  gathered  herself  up  slowly. 

"  I'm  in  love,"  she  said,  with  a  gigantic  sigh. 

*  Babs  !"  her  mother  exclaimed. 

*  Well  ?" 

*  How  can  you  say  such  a  thing  ?" 

*  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  have  no  sympathy  with 

339 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

people  who  are  in  love  ?"  Babs  asked,  reproachfully. 
"  And  here  have  I  been  rejoicing  to  think  I  have  such  a 
young  mamma  !  Have  you  forgotten  ?" 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  suddenly  became  conscious  of 
the  presence  of  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  and  blushed  ;  but 
the  arrival  of  Ally  Spice  and  Fanny  Sturdy  saved  the 
situation.  They  were  quickly  followed  by  Florence 
Japp  and  her  mother,  Mrs.  Normanton  and  her  brother, 
the  good  vicar,  Julia,  and  Miss  Kingconstance. 

Barbara  was  still  perched  upon  the  piano-stool.  She 
felt  Lady  May's  hard,  unsympathetic  eyes  upon  her. 
Babs  kept  to  her  sofa,  and  it  was  evident  to  those 
who  knew  her  that  she  meant  mischief.  The  others 
arranged  themselves  so  that  they  might  see  the  beauti- 
ful strange  lady,  and  at  the  same  time  listen  to  Lady 
May,  the  oracle  of  the  neighborhood.  Thus  Barbara, 
hemmed  in  on  her  piano -stool,  became  the  centre  of 
the  circle. 

"We  were  just  talking  about  love,"  Babs  recom- 
menced, with  another  gigantic  sigh,  addressing  the 
company  generally. 

Barbara,  with  the  recollection  of  Mrs.  Kingconstance's 
admonition  still  fresh  in  her  mind,  raised  her  eyebrows 
and  glanced  at  that  lady,  who,  surprised  herself,  flushed 
and  fidgeted  uncomfortably. 

"  We  talk  of  nothing  but  love  here  because  we  have 
so  little  of  it,"  Babs  proceeded,  addressing  Barbara. 
"  Though  why  we  aren't  all  of  us  always  in  love  I  don't 
know." 

*  It  would  be  difficult  in  this  neighborhood,"  said  Flor- 
ence Japp,  with  a  ring  of  bitterness  in  her  voice  which 
caused  Barbara  to  consider  her  with  interest. 

"  You  mean  because  there  aren't  men  enough  to  go 
round,"  said  Babs.  "  Don't  despair,  Florence !  Be 
good,  and  perhaps  you'll  have  a  reformed  rake  flung  to 
you  for  a  husband.  I  haven't  a  notion  what  a  reformed 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

rake  is  ;  but  he  is  generally  the  reward  of  merit  in  the 
books." 

"  Ladies  seem  to  think  that  a  reformed  rake  is  better 
than — er — no  bread,"  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  observed. 
"  But  I  should  say  beware  of  rolling  stones  myself.  It 
is  the  rolling  stone  that — er — barks  the  shins." 

Ally  Spice  looked  up  at  the  dear  man  in  admiration. 
Barbara  gave  him  one  glance  which  made  him  sorry  he 
had  risked  the  remark. 

"  Why  shouldn't  half  a  dozen  women  love  the  same 
man  ?"  Babs  asked.  "  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney,  you  know. 
It's  quite  possible,  isn't  it  ?" 

This  was  a  random  shot  of  Babs's  ;  but  it  sufficed  to 
silence  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney.  He  glanced  involunta- 
rily at  Barbara  Land,  and  found  her  looking  at  him  again 
shrewdly.  Babs  never  dreamed  that  he  had  philandered 
with  every  lady  in  the  room,  and  did  not  observe  the 
sudden  self-consciousness  that  settled  upon  them  all. 
Barbara  did. 

"  I  think  it  a  mistake  myself,"  Babs  pursued,  "  to  be  in 
love  with  any  one  in  particular.  For  the  rest  of  my  life 
I  am  going  to  be  in  love  with  love  alone.  It  does  make 
you  feel  so  nice  to  be  in  love  with  love  :  it's  an  ecstatic 
sensation  ;  isn't  it,  Lady  May  ?  But  perhaps  you're  in 
love  with  Sir  Philip.  It  must  be  rather  nice  to  have  a 
man  of  your  very  own  to  kiss  whenever  you  feel  inclined." 

The  elder  ladies  had  gradually  stiffened  with  horror 
as  Babs  proceeded  ;  the  younger  ones  were  inclined  to 
titter,  especially  at  that  allusion  to  Sir  Philip  May,  who 
was  not  the  sort  of  man  they  would  any  of  them  have 
chosen  to  kiss  for  pleasure. 

"  Where  have  you  got  all  this  nonsense,  Babs  ?"  her 
mother  demanded,  in  a  tone  of  great  annoyance. 

"  Which  nonsense  ?"  Babs  asked,  innocently. 

"  This  nonsense  you've  been  talking  about  love,  and 
all  that." 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  Babs  answered.  "  Who 
teaches  the  birds?  Perhaps  you  can  tell  us,  Lady 
May?" 

"  I  do  not  consider  the  subject  at  all  suitable  for  dis- 
cussion/' Lady  May  rejoined.  "  I  believe  there  are  cer- 
tain unsexed  women  who  do  talk  in  this  way  nowadays  ; 
but  I  do  not  associate  with  them,  and  I  should  be  sorry 
to  see  any  one  in  this  neighborhood  under  the  influence 
of  such  a  person.  This  kind  of  thing  spreads  like  an 
epidemic." 

"We1!,  you  needn't  glare  at  Barbara  Land/'  said 
Babs.  "  She's  quite  distressingly  proper  —  as  bad  as 
you  are." 

The  other  ladies  exchanged  glances,  not  knowing 
whether  to  laugh  at  or  to  deprecate  such  an  attitude 
towards  the  woman  to  whom  they  were  all  accustomed 
to  toady. 

"  Isn't  Babs  funny  to-day  ?"  Fanny  Sturdy  remarked, 
aside  to  Ally  Spice. 

Ally  Spice  goggled  her  eyes. 

"  Some  one  was  priming  mamma  lately  on  the  subject 
of  New  Women  ;  was  it  you  ?"  Babs  proceeded,  address- 
ing Lady  May. 

"  I've  just  been  telling  Lady  May  that  she  is  quite  mis- 
taken," Mrs.  Kingconstance  intervened.  "  Miss  Land 
is  not  a  New  Woman  at  all,  in  spite  of  her  educa- 
tion." 

"  But  that  is  not  my  fault,"  said  Barbara  Land,  apolo- 
getically. "  I  hope  I  shall  improve." 

"  You  will  not  improve  in  that  camp,"  Lady  May  de- 
cided. 

"  Certainly  not,"  Mrs.  Japp  rumbled  out,  in  her  deep 
bass  voice.  "  If  those  people  have  their  way  there  will 
be  an  end  of  all  true  womanly  influence." 

"  You  should  hear  what  men  say  on  the  subject !" 
Lady  May  interjected. 

342 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  I  very  much  doubt  if  men  appreciate  the  influences 
of  the  old-fashioned  woman  as  much  as  they  pretend/' 
Miss  Kingconstance  remarked. 

"  Oh,  but  they  do,"  Lady  May  asseverated. 

"  Then  why  don't  they  come  among  us  more  to  be 
influenced  ?"  Miss  Kingconstance  asked.  "  Our  power 
threatens  to  die  of  atrophy  for  want  of  opportunities  to 
exercise  it." 

"  I  guess  they  find  the  good  old-fashioned  womanly 
woman  too  deadly  dull  for  anything,"  said  Babs. 
"  That's  why  they  keep  away." 

"  Well,  I  know  this,"  rumbled  Mrs  Japp,  glancing  at 
her  handsome  daughter  with  an  unlovely  gleam  in  her 
eye — Florence  was  sitting  next  to  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney 
and  exchanging  confidential  remarks  with  him — "  I 
know  this  :  the  modern  woman  is  not  to  be  compared  to 
the  woman  of  by-gone  days." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  said  Barbara.  "  I  haven't  a  word  to 
say  against  those  gentle  ladies  of  a  by-gone  day  who 
sighed  and  submitted.  They  were  excellent  women  in 
their  way.  Some  of  them  were  great  women  of  the  kind 
who  come  occasionally  to  show  us  what  women  should 
be.  And  the  bulk  of  them  seem  to  have  possessed  every 
estimable  quality  save  one — the  one  which  would  have 
made  it  pleasant  to  live  with  them.  I  judge  by  those  pa- 
latial clubs  which  men,  while  extolling  the  virtues  of 
those  same  women,  built  everywhere  to  escape  from  their 
society.  Now,  I  understand  that  those  palatial  buildings 
are  being  gradually  deserted  for  the  smaller  mixed  clubs 
to  which  men  come  cordially  to  associate  with  the  women 
of  to-day  on  equal  terms." 

"  It  is  not  because  they  respect  them,  then,"  snapped 
Lady  May. 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Barbara.  "  I  must  differ  from  you 
there.  In  days  gone  by  there  was  a  great  deal  of  senti- 
mentality on  the  subject  of  women  ;  but  they  received 

343 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

very  little  respect.  Not  so  very  long  ago  no  decent  wom- 
an could  go  out  in  London  alone  without  fear  of  insult ; 
now,  I  will  undertake  to  say  that  a  well-behaved  woman 
may  go  almost  anywhere  unmolested — so  greatly  has 
our  position  improved  since  we  repudiated  protection 
and  demanded  respect." 

"  I  am  sick  of  the  eternal  woman  question,"  said  Lady 
May.  "  No  good  can  come  of  separating  the  interests 
of  the  sexes." 

"  But  it  seems  to  me  that  the  woman  question  is  ceas- 
ing to  be  the  woman  question  exclusively/'  said  Miss 
Kingconstance. 

"  Yes,"  said  Barbara.  "  The  modern  woman  believes 
in  herself  ;  but  she  believes  in  men  also.  She  believes 
in  humanity  at  large  ;  she  believes  that  the  interests  of 
the  sexes  cannot  be  separated." 

*  The  mistake  men  made  in  the  old  days  was  pre- 
cisely that,"  said  St.  Lambert ;   "  they  did  separate  the 
interests  of  the  sexes,  and  all  humanity  suffered." 

*  Well,"  said  Barbara,  "  it  is  obvious  that  the  woman 
movement  is  having  the  opposite  effect ;    it  is  consoli- 
dating the  interests  of  the  sexes,  and  uniting  men  and 
women  in  their  business  and  in  their  pleasure  to  an  ex- 
tent never  before  approached." 

"  And  you  think  that's  a  good  thing  ?"  said  Mrs.  Nor- 
manton. 

"  Indeed,  yes,"  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney,  whom  she  ad- 
dressed, answered,  absently,  with  his  eyes  on  Barbara 
Land. 

Lady  May  reared  her  head  at  all  this.  She  was  supe- 
rior to  any  argument  but  her  own. 

"  There  is  one  thing  that  always  gives  me  cause  to 
ponder  in  regard  to  the  equality  of  men  and  women," 
Sir  Owen  said.  "  In  all  social  relations  women  compare 
favorably  with  men  ;  but  in  science,  art,  and  literature 
men  remain  supreme.  There  is  no  getting  beyond  the 

344 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

fact  of  the  very  few  women  who  have  distinguished 
themselves  in  those  pursuits." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Barbara.  "  At  the  same  time, 
more  women  have  distinguished  themselves  than  men 
in  a  state  of  subjection.  ^Esop  is  the  only  slave  I  can 
think  of  who  distinguished  himself  in  literature.  A 
subjugated  race  produces  no  great  work  of  art ;  why 
do  you  expect  a  subjugated  sex  to  produce  more  than  a 
subjugated  race  under  similar  circumstances  ?  So  far, 
woman  has  been  the  thrall  of  law  and  custom,  and  she 
has  only  been  able  to  indicate  the  possession  of  power. 
But  you  will  see  that  as  soon  as  women  begin  to  let  them- 
selves go  in  art,  so  soon  as  they  cease  to  respect  ham- 
pering laws  and  try  for  the  expression  of  fine  ideas,  they 
will  succeed." 

Lady  May  and  Mrs.  Japp  felt  instinctively  that  the 
only  way  to  preserve  their  sense  of  superiority  was  to 
shut  their  ears  to  anything  that  Miss  Land  had  to  say. 
They  had  talked  to  each  other  while  she  was  speaking, 
and  now  they  arose  with  one  accord,  and  went  off  to- 
gether in  a  tornado  of  truisms,  leaving  Ally  Spice,  Flor- 
ence Japp,  and  Fanny  Sturdy  to  follow  together. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  her  ?"  Fanny  Sturdy  asked, 
excitedly,  directly  they  were  out  of  the  house. 

"  I  was  wondering  what  we  used  to  talk  about — what 
we  used  to  think  of — before  she  came  !"  Florence  Japp 
exclaimed,  with  her  head  in  the  air  and  her  eyes  spar- 
kling with  animation. 

"  If  she's  a  New  Woman,"  said  little  Miss  Spice,  breath- 
lessly, picking  up  her  skirts,  pointing  her  toes,  shaking 
back  her  curls,  and  dancing  along  energetically — "  if 
she's  a  New  Woman,  then  make  me  one,  too  !" 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  also  went  home  in  a  whirl  of 
emotion.  Barbara  Land  had,  in  a  moment,  upset  every 
calculation  he  had  made  in  regard  to  himself.  Passion 
— that  was  the  word.  He  had  made  no  allowance  for 

345 


BABS      THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

such  a  contingency ;  but  now,  on  a  sudden,  he  found 
himself  overcome  by  passion — a  burning,  absorbing, 
reckless  fit  of  it. 

Barbara  Land  must  be  his  ;    by  all  the  powers  he 
swore  it. 

346 


CHAPTER    XXXVII 

THERE  was  something  wrong  with  Sir  Owen  St. 
Lambert.     Everybody  noticed  it.     Housemaids 
peeping   through    staircase   windows  on  their 
way  up  and  down,  saw  him  loitering  about  the 
grounds,  hands   behind  him,  head  on  chest,  lost  in 
thought.     They  remarked  that  Sir  Owen  seemed  down 
on  his  luck.      The   squire  wondered  what   on  earth 
Owen  was  always  thinking  about ;  he  used  to  be  good 
company,  but  now  he  seemed  strangely  preoccupied,  and 
there  was  no  getting  a  word  out  of  him.     Mrs.  Norman- 
ton  had  her  own  idea  on  the  subject.     It  was  love,  she 
opined,  and  the  lady  lived  at  Dane  Court. 

"  Then  it  is  embarras  de  choix  that  he  is  suffering  from, 
for  there  are  five  of  'em  at  Dane  Court.  Pity  he  can't 
marry  'em  all  !"  said  the  squire. 

"  My  dear  !" 

Squire  Normanton  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  went 
off  to  see  to  his  farms.  He  respected  women  much  as  he 
did  his  stock,  naturally  preferring  the  finer-looking  speci- 
mens. In  the  sanctity  of  private  life  he  called  girls  heif- 
ers, and  would  much  have  preferred  that  they  should  be 
treated  like  merchandise,  as  of  old. 

The  primary  cause  of  Sir  Owen's  trouble  was  the  fact 
that  he  was  a  very  scrupulous,  perfect  gentleman,  one 
that  habitually  forbore  his  own  advantage  ;  and,  argue 
with  himself  as  he  might,  he  could  by  no  means  make  it 
clear  to  his  conscience  that  it  would  be  the  right  thing 
for  a  man  of  forty  to  propose  to  a  girl  of  seventeen. 

347 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

All  about  the  country  lanes  he  wandered,  tramping 
the  wet  leaves  underfoot,  the  dead  wet  leaves,  trying  to 
stifle  the  cry  of  his  heart — "  that  girl  !  that  girl  !" — 
trying  to  subtract  seventeen  from  forty  and  make  the  re- 
mainder less.  "  If  Babs  had  been  otherwise  brought  up," 
he  said  to  himself,  "  it  might  have  made  a  difference." 
Then,  at  least,  she  would  have  had  knowledge  enough 
to  enable  her  to  choose  ;  but  as  it  was — no,  marrying  a 
girl  who  has  the  ideas  of  a  babe  on  the  subject  of  mar- 
riage is  taking  a  mean  advantage,  and  he  was  not  the 
man  to  do  that. 

"  She  doesn't  love  me  or  anybody,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"  She  doesn't  know  what  love  is,  but  I  could  easily  make 
her  think  she  loves  me.  That  is  what  we  do,  we  men  ; 
we  are  content  to  arouse  all  that  is  animal  in  such  nat- 
ures for  our  own  satisfaction.  And  what  happens  after  ? 
The  girl  discovers  when  it  is  too  late  that  her  husband 
is  not  the  man  she  should  have  married.  If  Babs  be- 
came my  wife  and  awoke  afterwards  to  the  fact  that  Ca- 
denhouse  was  the  only  man  she  could  have  cared  for 
really — and  I  rather  suspect  that  that  would  be  the  case 
— what  a  cad  I  should  feel  forever." 

Still,  he  hovered  about  her,  not  because  he  had  any 
definite  intention,  but  just  because  he  hadn't.  Every 
road  he  took  in  those  days  led  to  Dane  Court.  Over 
and  over  again  he  set  off  in  quite  the  opposite  direction  ; 
but  always,  before  the  day  was  out,  he  found  himself 
circling  about,  and,  if  he  did  not  actually  go  up  to  the 
house,  he  at  all  events  skirted  it.  In  these  wanderings 
he  frequently  fell  in  with  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney.  The 
two  would  not  ordinarily  have  had  much  in  common  ; 
but  the  pilgrims  of  love  claim  kinship  whenever 
they  meet  in  any  sort  of  intimacy.  They  cannot  dis- 
guise themselves  from  each  other.  A  secret  sign  is  set 
upon  them,  and  a  signal  passes  between  them  involun- 
tarily which  draws  them  together,  however  antagonistic 

348 


BABS       THE       IMPQSSIBL  E 

in  other  respects  their  natures  may  be.  Half  the  joy  of 
love  lies  in  the  discussion  of  it ;  and  even  unhappy  love 
has  that  delight. 

St.  Lambert  tore  himself  away  from  the  neighborhood 
several  times,  but  invariably  returned.  The  hunting 
and  shooting  were  his  excuse;  but  that  winter  was 
never  afterwards  associated  in  his  mind  with  hunting 
and  shooting.  With  the  recollection  of  it  there  would 
recur  to  him  the  balmy  brightness  of  frosty  mornings, 
brown  branches  hung  with  crystal  rain-drops,  dark  fore- 
grounds of  Scotch  firs  glorified  by  the  red  radiance  of 
happy  sunsets  ;  and,  underfoot,  dead  leaves  damp  upon 
the  narrow  footways ;  then  the  big  warm  rooms  at  Dane 
Court,  lamplit,  where  tea  was  served  to  lovely  music, 
and  all  was  ease  and  grace  and  smiling  welcome.  Many 
a  time  did  he  and  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  walk  thither 
together,  scarcely  exchanging  a  word  by  the  way,  yet 
quite  in  touch ;  and  return  in  the  crisp,  clear  moonlight, 
both  in  a  silent  ecstasy,  impossible  to  define  yet  per- 
fectly comprehended,  and,  for  that  very  reason,  forming 
a  bond  of  union  more  subtly  strong  than  any  other  form 
of  friendship. 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney's  place  was  on  the  direct  road 
from  Normanton  to  Dane  Court,  and  St.  Lambert  picked 
him  up  sometimes  as  he  passed  the  gate. 

"  Fine  day,"  he  said,  on  one  of  these  occasions.  "  Go- 
ing for  a  constitutional  ?" 

"  I  was  thinking  of  it,"  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  an- 
swered, looking  at  the  weather  undecidedly,  like  a  sailor 
in  doubt  about  the  breeze. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  going  up  to  Dane  Court,"  St.  Lam- 
bert remarked.  "  You'd  better  come,  too.  We  should 
about  catch  them  at  tea." 

"  Well,  since  you  suggest  it,"  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney 
agreed,  and  then,  glancing  at  his  own  most  careful 
get-up,  "  but  am  I  right  for  ladies'  society  ?" 

349 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

;     "  Right  ?    Why,  you'd  be  trim  at  a  garden-party." 

They  walked  on  together. 

11 1  was  thinking  about  that  boy  Montacute  as  I  came 
along,"  St.  Lambert  said.  "  He's  a  handful,  or  I'm 
much  mistaken." 

*  Er— yes,"  said  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney.     "  He  is,  I 
have  reason  to  know.     And,  by  a  curious  coincidence, 
I've  been  thinking  about  him  myself  this  afternoon. 
Something  must  be  done  with  him.     It  is  a  pity  he  has 
no  father." 

"  Yes,"  St.  Lambert  answered,  thoughtfully.  "  Women 
of  his  mother's  school  were  never  much  good  at  bringing 
up  boys.  I  always  think  of  Mrs.  Pendennis.  What  a 
happy  touch  that  was  !  Loving  him,  praying  for  him, 
admiring  him,  believing  in  him,  suffering  agonies  of 
self-denial  for  his  benefit,  and  letting  him  go  to  the 
devil  for  want  of  a  word." 

*  But,"  said  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney,  dubiously,  "  do 
you  think  a  woman  could  manage  a  lad  like  that  ?" 

"  No — not  manage.  Modern  mothers  do  better  than 
that.  They  show  the  lads  how  to  manage  themselves. 
Just  compare  Mrs.  Kingconstance  with  Barbara  Land — " 

"  There  is  no  comparison  !"  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney 
interrupted,  stepping  out  with  the  spring  of  youth  in  his 
gait  and  surveying  the  prospect  with  the  pride  of  a  joy- 
ous lover. 

St.  Lambert  looked  about  him,  too,  as  if  he  expected 
some  acknowledgment  from  nature  of  her  best-beloved 
mood.  He  did  not  connect  these  elderly  ecstasies  with 
Barbara  Land,  however.  He  thought  it  was  the  widow 
Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  pursued. 

When  they  arrived  at  Dane  Court  they  found  Bar- 
bara Land  and  Babs  in  the  hall  with  their  out-door 
things  on. 

"  We  have  just  come  in  from  a  stroll  about  the  grounds," 
said  Babs.  "  Barbara's  tired  of  it,  but  I  haven't  yet  had 

35° 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

half  walking  enough.  I  want  to  go  and  see  Miss  Spice  ; 
will  you  come  with  me  ?" 

She  looked  at  St.  Lambert  invitingly.  They  had  not 
been  out  alone  together  since  the  day  of  Barbara's  ar- 
rival. He  hesitated  ;  then  fell  to  the  temptation. 

"  Seventeen  from  forty,"  he  reasoned,  in  excuse  of  him- 
self. "  It's  safe  enough." 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  said  Babs.  "  I've  something  to 
show  you — something  I  have  to  give  you  as  a  reward  of 
merit." 

She  darted  away  up-stairs,  and  came  running  down 
again  with  a  packet  in  her  hand,  from  which  she  drew  a 
fine  photograph  of  herself. 

"  It  was  done  in  Paris,"  she  said,  "  and  I  have  had  it 
enlarged  for  you.  I  knew  you  would  like  to  have  it." 

She  looked  at  it  herself  complacently. 

"  There's  nobody  like  me,  is  there  ?  Nobody  half  so 
nice  !  I  look  at  myself  with  the  greatest  pleasure. 
Everybody's  in  love  with  that  picture.  But  the  nui- 
sance of  it  is  that  I  feel  detached  from  it  somehow.  If 
I  could  quite  believe  that  it  was  me  1" 

She  hugged  herself. 

St.  Lambert  had  taken  the  picture,  and  was  gazing 
at  it  intently. 

Barbara  looked  at  him  and  stifled  a  sigh. 

"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  has  not  yet  returned  from  her 
drive,"  she  said  to  Mr.  Jelly  bond  Tinney.  "  What  would 
you  like  to  do  ?  Will  you  come  into  the  drawing-room 
and  wait  for  her,  or  will  you  stroll  round  the  grounds 
with  me  ?" 

"  The  drawing-room,  if  you  please,"  said  Mr.  Jelly- 
bond  Tinney.  "  heard  it  said  that  you  were  tired." 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  and  Miss  Land  had  come  to  an 
understanding  very  early  in  their  acquaintance.  It  hap- 
pened at  one  of  those  informal  gatherings  at  the  Cross 
Roads  Cottage  when  the  neighborhood,  hungry  for  tea, 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

fell  upon  Miss  Spice's  scanty  store  and  left  it  depleted. 
Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  had  appeared  for  a  short  time  and 
delighted  the  ladies  with  some  characteristic  remarks. 
He  had  been  in  unusually  good  form,  the  presence  of 
Barbara  Land  having  inspired  him  so  that  he  forgot 
himself  and  worked  his  peculiar  vein  unrestrainedly. 

Barbara  had  listened  until  she  was  so  exasperated 
that  she  could  not  contain  herself. 

"  Isn't  he  original  ?"  Miss  Spice,  in  a  flutter,  had 
asked  of  the  universe  after  one  of  his  most  audacious 
sallies. 

"  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  is  laughing  at  us/'  said  Bar- 
bara Land. 

Mr.  Jellybond,  of  course,  protested,  but  Barbara  would 
not  argue  the  point,  and  he  was  obliged  to  let  it  drop. 

The  next  time  he  saw  her  alone  he  returned  to  the 
subject,  renewing  his  protests. 

"  It  is  no  use,  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney, "  Barbara  said 
to  him,  bluntly.  *  I  am  a  woman  of  the  new  type.  I 
know  the  world  I  have  to  live  in.  Your  tactics  may 
answer  with  the  poor  ladies  you  have  hitherto  encoun- 
tered in  these  wilds,  but  they  are  worse  than  useless 
with  me,  they  are  ridiculous." 

"  You  take  my  little  jokes  too  seriously,  Miss  Land, 
indeed  you  do,"  Mr  Jellybond  Tinney  remonstrated. 
"  I  assure  you  I  am  the  only  real  amusement  the  ladies 
about  here  have.  But  if  you  object,  I  will  never  buffoon 
for  any  of  them  again." 

"  Oh,  pray,  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  !"  Barbara  ex- 
claimed, washing  her  hands  both  of  him  and  his 
ladies  with  an  expressive  gesture. 

But  this  was  the  beginning  of  a  good  understanding 
between  them.  Without  thinking  much  of  Mr.  Jelly- 
bond  Tinney,  Barbara  began  to  like  him  rather.  He 
was  always  kindly  considerate  of  her.  Of  his  passion 
she  had  as  yet  no  suspicion.  But  the  whole  atmosphere 

352 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

of  the  house  was  charged  with  passion,  and,  when  that  is 
the  case,  all  who  are  in  the  least  susceptible  come  under 
the  beneficent  part  of  its  influence  insensibly,  to  the  ex- 
tent, at  all  events,  of  being  at  their  best  with  their  f ellow- 
creatures.  Passion,  apart  from  its  special  object,  is  as 
generous  as  it  is  evanescent ;  it  bestows  something  of  it- 
self on  others  by  every  channel  open  to  friendly  feeling. 

When  they  were  seated  in  the  drawing-room,  Mr. 
Jellybond  Tinney  looked  about  him. 

"  It  is  some  years  now  since  I  first  entered  this  room," 
he  said  ;  "  and  I  have  lived  through  a  good  many  emo- 
tions in  the  time.  I  have  been  here  often  enough,  too, 
and  the  aspect  of  everything  should  be  familiar ;  but, 
somehow,  lately  " — again  he  looked  about  him — "  the 
place  is  not  the  same." 

"  1  hope  the  change  is  for  the  better,  at  all  events," 
said  Barbara  Land,  pleased,  in  spite  of  herself,  that  Mr. 
Jellybond  Tinney,  who  posed  habitually  with  every- 
body else,  should  be  simply  sincere  with  her. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "  It  has  taken  the  lustre 
from  luxury,  the  change,  whatever  it  is.  For  the  best 
part  of  my  life  I  pursued  this  kind  of  thing  " — he  glanced 
round  the  beautiful  apartment — "  my  great  ambition 
was  to  possess.  And  the  first  time  I  came  in  here  I 
skipped  about  like  a  schoolboy.  I  felt  the  texture  of  the 
draperies,  velvet  and  satin  and  brocade  ;  I  knelt  on  the 
silk  Persian  carpets  and  stroked  them  ;  I  fingered  the 
china  and  those  heavy,  handsome  frames,  and  I  said  to 
myself,  '  At  last !  at  last!'" 

"  But  why  at  last  ?"  said  Barbara. 

"  I  was  being  received  at  last  as  an  equal  by  the  class 
to  which  such  things  are  the  common  comforts  of  every- 
day life.  I  need  not  tell  you,  Miss  Land,  I  am  afraid 
that  I  have  not  always  belonged  to  your  class." 

There  was  inquiry  in  his  voice,  and  he  waited  for  a 
reply.  Barbara  felt  forced  to  answer,  but  she  hesitated. 
z  353 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  I  will  say  this  for  you,  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney,"  she 
said,  at  last,  "  if  you  are  a  self-made  man,  you  have 
made  yourself  well  by  reason  of  certain  ideals  of  which 
you  now  and  then  give  one  a  glimpse,  the  ideals  of  gen- 
tlehood, which  I  know  you  hold.  It  is  for  want  of 
those  ideals  that  the  nouveau  riche  is  such  a  detestable 
person  as  a  rule." 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney's  countenance  glowed. 

*  But  doubtless  you  noticed  a  remnant  of  the  com- 
mercial manner,"  he  ventured  ;  "  a  certain  uneasiness 
in  association  with  your  own  class,  born  partly  of  the 
consciousness  of  a  difference  of  position  and  partly  of 
the  habit  of  getting  the  best  of  a  bargain  and  the  fear 
of  being  found  out." 

"  No,  I  noticed  nothing  of  that  kind,"  said  Barbara. 
"  If  you  were  a  commercial  man,  it  was  honorable  com- 
merce, which  is  compatible  with  the  most  generous  and 
elevated  sentiments.  But  that  uneasiness  you  speak 
of,  there  is  deprecation  in  it.  I  believe  it  is  more  often 
than  anything  the  outcome  of  a  sensitive  shrinking 
from  the  insolent  airs  which  ill-bred  people  of  the  upper 
classes  are  apt  to  give  themselves.  Their  imperti- 
nences are  so  many  cowardly  blows  to  the  self-respect 
of  the  man  who  serves  them — cowardly  because  they 
know  he  cannot  resent  them." 

"  You  are  a  democrat,  I  perceive,  Miss  Land,"  Mr. 
Jellybond  Tinney  observed. 

"  I  hope  to  live  to  see  the  institution  of  the  cultivation, 
in  all  classes,  of  common  politeness,"  said  Barbara  Land. 
"  I  sometimes  think  that  the  best  manners  are  preserved 
in  the  shops  at  present." 

"  You  were  speaking  about  the  ideals  of  gentlehood," 
Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  said.  "  It  is  only  by  very  slow 
degrees  that  I  have  arrive^  at  those  ideals.  I  did  not 
hold  them  when  I  first  came  here.  But  I  was  intelligent 
enough  to  know — I  had  associated  with  gentlemen 

354 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

enough  to  discover — that  there  was  a  radical  difference 
between  their  habits  of  mind  and  mine,  and  I  set  myself 
to  observe — to  find  out  what  that  difference  might  be, 
for  I  was  determined  to  conquer  the  difficulty.  I  was 
determined  not  only  to  pass  for  a  gentleman,  but  to  be  a 
gentleman.  As  it  happened,  I  fell  in  with  the  right  sort 
of  people  here  for  my  purpose.  There  was  Squire  Nor- 
manton,  a  pretty  rough  specimen  of  gentlehood  ;  but  I 
noticed  that  he  pulled  up*  at  lying.  There  was  the  vicar 
— a  saint  as  well  as  a  gentleman.  When  I  first  knew 
him  I  was  disheartened  ;  but  I  soon  discovered  that  I 
might  be  a  gentleman  without  being  a  saint.  I  didn't 
want  to  be  a  saint — at  that  time." 

Miss  Land's  gravity  was  only  just  proof  against  the 
comical  earnestness  with  which  this  was  said. 

*  Whv  didn't  you  want  to  be  a  saint — at  that  time  ?" 
she  asked,  with  genuine  interest. 

*  Oh,  well — honestly,  because  of  the  cakes  and  ale," 
he  answered.     "  My  nature  is  pleasure -loving,  and,  at 
that  time,  it  seemed  to  me  that  to  be  a  saint  one  must 
set  one's  self  to  show  one's  Creator  that  He  was  to  blame 
for  having  given  one  a  capacity  for  pleasure.     Then  I 
began  to  see  that  it  is  not  pleasure  in  itself,  but  the  choice 
of  pleasures,  that  matters.     Nature  pleads  in  us  for  cer- 
tain pleasures — " 

"  But  we  are  not  living1  in  a  state  of  nature,"  Barbara 
put  in. 

"  No.  But  Nature  is  still  chairman  of  the  committee 
of  which  we  are  composed.  If  we  were  left  to  Nature 
alone,  of  course  we  should  commit  excesses  for  which 
we  should  have  to  suffer ;  intelligence,  properly  trained, 
steps  in  to  prevent  that.  Our  intelligence  says  hold — 
enough — when  1'' 

"  How  about  our  principles  ?' 

*  1  was  coming  to  that.     That  is  my  last  discovery. 
Intelligence  is  not  enough.     To  make  a  gentleman 

355 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

principle  must  weigh  with  intelligence,  and  the  two  to- 
gether influence  the  choice  of  pleasures." 

"  But  not  the  choice  of  pleasures  only,"  said  Barbara. 
"  There  are  duties  to  be  considered  ;  although,"  she  add- 
ed, "  it  is  hard  to  draw  the  line  between  the  two.  Duties 
may  be  unpleasant  in  the  doing  ;  but  when  they  are 
done  something  pleasant  results." 

"  I  shall  remember  that,"  he  said. 

*  It  always  seems  to  me  that  Sincerity  is  the  one  word 
we  want  for  our  direction  in  social  intercourse,"  said 
Barbara. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied.  "  Cadenhouse  and  St.  Lambert 
have  taught  me  that.  I  noticed  that  their  courtesies 
were  sincerely  meant,  and  not  a  thin  screen  assumed 
for  interested  motives,  and  sure  to  be  set  aside  upon  the 
slightest  provocations,  like  the  courtesies  of  a  shop- 
walker in  a  dispute  with  a  suspicious  customer." 

"  Sir  Owen  is  a  new  acquaintance  of  yours  ?" 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  quick  to  see  what  she  had  in  her 
mind.  "  I  have  hardly  had  time  to  apply  my  last  dis- 
covery ;  but  I  have  done  my  best  to  make  a  habit  of  the 
others,  and  I  hope  to  make  a  habit  of  this  one,  too." 

Barbara  reflected  a  little. 

"  What  you  tell  me  is  very  interesting,  Mr.  Jellybond 
Tinney,"  she  said.  "  Would  it  be  indiscreet  if,  for  that 
reason,  I  ventured  to  ask  a  question  ?  Do  you  owe 
nothing  to  women  ?" 

"  I  owe  them  all  my  pleasure  in  life,"  he  answered, 
fervently. 

"  I  don't  mean  that,"  said  Barbara.  "  I  mean,  have 
they  helped  you — the  women  of  my  class — in  the  same 
way  that  men  have  done  ?" 

"  Only  one  has — two.  Miss  Kingconstance  has 
hurled  a  hint  at  me  sometimes,  in  her  peculiar  wTay,  by 
which  I  have  profited.  But  she  has  become  a  case  of 
head  without  heart — a  case  of  Nature  thwarted,  if  I  am 

356 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

not  very  much  mistaken.  Head  without  heart  goes  but 
a  very  little  way  in  this  world." 

"  And  the  other  lady ;  how  has  she  helped  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  she  has  helped  me,  and  helped  me  enormously, 
just  by  being  herself.  The  others  were  the  slaves  of 
convention  ;  they  did  and  said  and  thought,  for  good  or 
for  evil;  just  what  was  expected  of  them.  The  lady  who 
has  helped  me  does  and  says  and  thinks  for  herself,  and 
doesn't  care  a  rap  for  any  convention  so  long  as  her  own 
high-mindedness  is  satisfied  that  there  is  nothing  wrong 
in  what  she  chooses  to  do." 

"  She  must  be  a  fine  character,"  said  Barbara,  casting 
about  in  her  mind  for  such  a  person  in  that  neighbor- 
hood, and  naively  unconscious  of  the  fact  that  she  her- 
self was  the  woman  he  meant. 

"  Women  have  always  treated  me  well,"  he  resumed, 
after  a  pause  ;  "  better,  perhaps,  than  I  have  treated 
them. '  That  troubles  me  now.  It  is  true  that  I  have 
nothing  very  serious  on  my  conscience  with  regard  to 
them.  I  may  have  taken  advantage  of  the  fact  that  I 
knew  them  better  than  they  knew  themselves  ;  but, 
until  lately,  I  got  out  of  that  by  considering  them  as 
much  free  agents  as  I  was.  Now,  I  am  not  sure  that 
that  was  fair.  In  fact,  to  be  quite  honest,  I  am  sure  it 
was  not  fair.  It  was  customary.  That  is  why  it  troubles 
me  now.  I  have  a  horrid  suspicion  that  every  act  has 
its  compensation  in  kind  ;  our  good  deeds  make  good 
times  for  us,  and  our  bad  deeds  breed  misfortunes.  I 
have  seen  people  suffer,  too,  as  if  punishment  were  cu- 
mulative. The  sinner  succeeded  all  along  the  line  until 
he  tried  for  the  great  desire  of  his  heart ;  but  that  he 
lost." 

The  sound  of  carriage  wheels  became  audible  at  this 
moment,  and,  immediately  afterwards,  Mrs.  Kingcon- 
stance,  looking  as  well  as  a  woman  can  look  hideously 
smothered  in  sables,  came  into  the  room,  followed  by 

357 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

Julia.  She  had  hides  and  heads  and  tails  of  dead 
creatures  all  over  her,  displayed  regardless  of  art  as  of 
expense ;  the  whole  effect  being,  not  to  strike  the  observer 
with  admiration,  but  to  make  him  wonder  what  she  had 
paid  for  the  disfigurement.  She  was  a  walking  adver- 
tisement of  the  amount  of  her  own  credit  at  the  bank. 

Mr.  Jelly  bond  Tinney  dropped  involuntarily  into  his 
usual  elaborate  pose  as  he  arose  to  receive  her  ;  and 
Barbara  observed  that  he  was  a  very  different  person 
from  the  one  with  whom  she  had  just  been  conversing. 
She  did  not  accuse  him  of  insincerity  ;  but  it  was  hard 
to  decide  between  the  two,  the  old  affectation  and  the  new 
ideal,  which  was — or  rather  which  would  be — the  genu- 
ine Jellybond  Tinney. 


1W 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII 

[EANWHILE  Babs  and  St.  Lambert  had  gone 
on  by  the  lonely  way  through  the  wood  to  call 
on  Ally  Spice.     St.  Lambert  was  burdened  by 
a  heavy  basket  of  good  things  which  Babs  was 
taking  to  Ally. 

When  they  were  out  of  sight  of  the  house,  Babs  slipped 
her  arm  through  his  arm  confidingly.  A  strange  sense 
of  ease  and  relief  swept  through  him  at  the  gentle  con- 
tact ;  and  he  smiled  down  at  her,  the  great  yearning 
ache  that  had  been  in  him  so  long  now  satisfied  for  the 
moment. 

"  I've  been  wanting  to  see  you  again  so  much,"  said 
Babs — "  to  see  you  like  this,  I  mean.  I  don't  see  you 
properly  when  other  people  are  by.  I  don't  know  what's 
come  over  me  lately  ;  I  feel  lonely  all  the  time.  Never 
before  did  I  know  what  it  meant  to  be  lonely." 

"  But  now  that  you  have  Barbara — "  he  began. 

*  Oh,  of  course,"  she  interrupted,  "  there  are  plenty  of 
people,  but  they  don't  seem  to  signify.  It  distracts  me 
for  a  little  to  go  from  one  to  another,  worrying  them  ; 
but  I  feel  lonely  all  the  time.  No  one  satisfies  me  now 
but  you." 

"  Then  you  are  not  making  a  confidante  of  Barbara  ?" 
he  said.  He  had  noticed  already  that  she  gave  her  con- 
fidence only  at  unexpected  moments. 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Babs.  "  One  doesn't  talk  about 
one's  real  self  to  everybody." 

359 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

They  walked  on  some  little  way  in  silence,  then  St. 
Lambert  said : 

"  I  hoped  that  you  would  have  cared  for  Barbara  and 
confided  in  her." 

*  Does  that  mean  that  you  don't  want  to  be  bothered 
with  my  confidence  ?" 

She  clasped  both  hands  round  his  arm  and  looked  up 
in  his  face.  He  noticed  every  detail  of  hers — the  deli- 
cate oval,  the  sensitive  mouth  with  red  lips  parted  enough 
to  show  the  little  white,  even  teeth ;  the  delicate  brows 
and  limpid  eyes,  all  innocent  of  self-consciousness  as  a 
child's.  Her  whole  mind  was  set  upon  unravelling  the 
mysterious  puzzle  which  life  had  become  to  her ;  all  of 
herself  that  came  into  the  effort  was  objective. 

"  I  wish  I  could  be  sure,"  slipped  from  him  unawares. 

"Sure  of  what?" 

*  Sure  of  which — of  whom  you  will  love  in  the  end, 
when  you  are  a  woman." 

"  Sure  of  which,  you  mean.  Why  did  you  correct 
yourself  ?  You  want  to  know — you  were  thinking  of — 
Cadenhouse  "  (he  noticed  her  hesitation  at  the  name) — 
"  and  of—" 

*  Myself,"  he  said. 

She  dropped  his  arm,  and  walked  on  in  silence  beside 
him  a  little,  considering. 

"  I  love  you  both/'  she  said,  "  but  differently.  There 
has  never  been  a  moment  in  my  life  when  I  didn't  love 
Cadenhouse ;  that  is  always  going  on,  you  know.  But 
I  have  had  other  loves  in  between.  You  are  the  prin- 
cipal one.  Indeed,  I'm  not  sure  now  which  of  the  two 
I  care  for  most." 

"  If  you  were  asked  to  choose  between  us  ?" 

"  Which  I  would  marry  ?  Well,  I  don't  think  I  could — 
if  choosing  one  meant  giving  the  other  up.  I  want  you 
both.  I  should  like  to  have  Cadenhouse  for  my  Sun- 
day lover  and  you  for  my  everyday  one.  I  should  like  to 

360 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

make  Cadenhouse  break  his  Sabbath  occasionally ;  for 
it  has  been  all  Sabbath  with  Cadenhouse.  It  wasn't 
Sabbath  though,  when — " 

She  was  going  to  say  when  she  kissed  him,  but  stop- 
ped short  ;  the  fine  intuitive  delicacy  of  awakening 
womanhood  checking  her  for  the  first  time. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  after  a  long  pause,  "  it's  a 
curious  thing,  but  I  could  no  more  go  again  for  comfort 
or  anything  else  to  Cadenhouse  than  I  could  fly.  Why, 
I  wonder  ?" 

"  You  are  growing  up,  Babs,"  St.  Lambert  said.  "  Only 
children  can  be  forgiven  for  such  escapades." 

Babs  saw  the  reproof. 

"  That  was  delicately  done,"  she  said,  admiringly. 
"  It  didn't  hurt  a  bit.  But  don't  be  afraid  to  blame  me 
frankly  when  you  think  me  to  blame.  The  risk  of  these 
delicate  subtleties  is  that  one  is  not  sure  to  see  the 
point." 

"  I  wish  you  were  older,  Babs,"  he  sighed. 

"  I  feel  much  older,"  she  said.  "  Cadenhouse's  anger 
was  an  agonizing  experience  to  begin  with,  and  his  ab- 
sence has  been  more  agonizing  still.  I  have  been  feeling 
humiliated  somehow ;  I  can't  tell  how ;  but  you  are 
making  me  feel  myself  again.  You  did  that  before 
while  I  was  with  you.  Do  you  remember  that  day  in  the 
carriage  when  you  told  me  he  had  gone  ?  At  first  all  my 
machinery  went  whirling  round  and  round.  Then  I  was 
conscious  of  being  furiously  miserable — isn't  that  a 
funny  expression  ?  I  never  thought  of  it  before,  but  it 
is  just  what  I  mean.  I  was  both  furious  and  miserable. 
I  should  like  to  have  battered  my  own  skull  in  to  relieve 
the  pain  here  " — she  clasped  her  hands  on  her  chest.  "  I 
pretended  to  be  philosophical — I  don't  know  if  I  imposed 
upon  you.  But  if  you  had  not  petted  me,  I  should  have 
done  something  desperate." 

"  You  refused  Cadenhouse  and  gave  him  no  choice 

361 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

but  to  go  ;   and  then  you  were  hurt  because  he  went,  it 
seems  to  me." 

"  Precisely,"  she  answered,  candidly.  "  How  clever 
you  are  !  But  why  do  you  wish  that  I  was  older  ?" 

"  Because,  if  you  were,  I  might  suppose  that  you 
knew  your  own  mind,  and  then  I  should  ask  you  to 
marry  me." 

"  Would  you  ?"  said  Babs.  "  Now  that  would  be  nice 
of  you.  Then,  if  I  married  you,  when  I  was  miserable 
I  should  always  have  you  at  hand  to  talk  to  as  I  did  that 
day  in  the  carriage.  That  was  a  great  relief." 

"  You  would  marry  me  in  order  to  be  able  to  talk  about 
Cadenhouse,"  he  observed. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  absently.  "  And  to  be  petted, 
you  know.  The  only  time  I  ever  forgot  him  for  a  mo- 
ment was  when  you  petted  me." 

They  walked  on  together  side  by  side  on  the  narrow 
woodland  path  in  silence.  Babs  had  fallen  to  analyz- 
ing her  own  emotions.  St.  Lambert  was  a  prey  to  temp- 
tation. 

They  were  deep  in  the  wood  by  this  time.  The  boles 
of  the  tall  Scotch  firs  marked  with  dark  streaks  the  ruby 
sunset  glowing  behind  them  ;  their  heavy  plumes  stood 
out  in  distinct  relief  against  it.  The  color  was  passing 
in  swift  gradations  from  shade  to  shade  of  loveliness. 
There  were  delicate  odors  of  pine  in  the  air,  and  from 
the  moist  earth  uprose  those  scents  which  tell  their  tale 
of  the  year's  increase. 

"  We  never  see  sunsets  like  that  in  the  tropics/' 
St.  Lambert  said.  "  The  suspicion  of  frost  in  the  air 
strengthens  the  color,  somehow,  and  sharpens  the  out- 
lines of  the  trees  into  peculiar  distinctness.  Look  at  the 
needles  of  those  firs  ;  they  are  like  lace  against  the 
crimson." 

"  But  I  suppose  your  old  tropics  have  a  charm  of 
their  own,"  said  Babs,  indifferently. 

362 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Yes/'  he  answered.  "  At  Wondah  it  is  the  wealth 
of  flowers  and  foliage  plants." 

"  Wondah  is  your  place  out  there,  isn't  it  ?"  She 
vaguely  indicated  the  east  with  a  nod  of  her  head. 
"  Why  did  you  call  it  Wondah  ?" 

"  Just  after  it  was  built  a  native  prince  came  to  see 
me/'  he  told  her  ;  "  and  when  he  saw  the  place  he  ex- 
claimed, '  It  is  a  wondah  !'  meaning  wonder  ;  and  it 
has  been  called  so  ever  since." 

"  It  is  a  lovely  place,  then  ?" 

"  Yes.     Without  boasting,  I  think  I  may  say  so." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  it,"  said  Babs.  "  I  wish  you 
would  marry  Barbara,  or  somebody,  and  take  me  out 
with  you." 

"  Or  marry  you  and  take  Barbara  out,"  he  responded. 

He  could  not  keep  away  from  the  subject. 

Babs  sang  out,  laughingly  : 

"  I'm  ower  young  to  marry  yet, 
I'm  far  too  young  to  marry  yet, 
I'm  ower  young,  I'm  far  too  young 
To  take  me  from  me  mammy  yet." 

St.  Lambert's  face  contracted. 

"  That  jarred,"  said  Babs.  "  I'm  sorry.  But  why  did 
it  jar?" 

She  slipped  her  hand  through  his  arm  again. 

The  path  through  the  wood  was  visible,  winding 
ahead  of  them.  He  looked  along  it  as  if  measuring  the 
distance  they  had  yet  to  traverse. 

"  Do  you  wish  you  were  out  of  the  wood  ?"  said 
Babs. 

"  I  do,"  he  answered — "  in  more  senses  of  the  word 
than  one." 

"  Well,  that's  nice  of  you  !"  she  exclaimed.  "  I  bring 
you  for  a  delightful  walk,  I  do  my  best  to  amuse  you, 
and  you — but  perhaps  you're  subject  to  satanic  moods." 

363 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  I  owe  you  an  apology,  Babs,"  St.  Lambert  said. 
"  I'm  not  myself  to-day.  Something  is  troubling  me." 

"  Might  one  help  to  dissipate  the  trouble  ?"  said  Babs. 

"  The  trouble  is  the  difference  between  seventeen  and 
forty.  It  is,  I  fear,  an  insurmountable  trouble." 

He  looked  at  Babs  as  he  spoke,  but  she  was  not  at- 
tending to  him. 

"  What  a  bore  for  you,"  she  said,  in  a  perfunctory  tone, 
thinking  of  something  else. 

"  What  made  you  go  and  live  in  the  East  ?"  she  asked, 
after  a  pause. 

"  I  wanted  something  to  do  after  I  left  the  service,  and 
tea-planting  allured  me." 

Babs  yawned. 

"  I  ought  to  apologize,  too,"  she  said.  "  I'm  as  flat 
to-day  as  you  are.  I  got  up  too  early.  Tea  will  be 
most  acceptable,  as  Ally  Spice  would  say.  I  expect  you 
find  that  basket  heavy.  It's  crammed  with  good  things." 

"  Do  you  always  take  your  tea  when  you  go  to  see 
your  friends  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Always  when  I  go  to  see  Ally  Spice,"  she  replied. 
"  I  get  a  fit  of  her  sometimes.  I've  got  one  now.  I  feel 
I  must  go  and  see  her.  She  does  me  good." 

"  Is  she  a  confidante  of  yours,  then  ?" 

"  Confidante,  no.  I  don't  make  confidantes  of — wom- 
en. I  wouldn't  be  bothered  with  a  woman  as  a  con- 
fidante. They  don't  take  one  out  of  one's  self  as  a  man 
does.  I  have  confided  in  Ally  sometimes — used  her  as 
a  target  to  talk  at,  you  know.  She's  sympathetic.  And 
in  that  way  I  got  out  of  myself.  That's  my  complaint 
against  women  friends.  I  can  take  them  out  of  them- 
selves, but  they  can't  take  me.  I  much  prefer  a  man. 
Julia  and  Meg  Normanton  are  always  strolling  about 
together  with  their  arms  round  each  other,  talking  non- 
sense. I  talk  a  prodigious  amount  of  nonsense  too,  of 
course,  but  then  I  know  it's  nonsense,  and  they  don't." 

364. 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  How  did  the  basket  for  Miss  Spice  become  an  insti- 
tution ?"  St.  Lambert  asked. 

"  Once — long  ago/'  Babs  began,  reluctantly,  "  I  went 
to  see  Ally,  and  there  wasn't  bread  enough.  I  hardly 
like  to  tell  you.  It  makes  me  feel  ashamed.  Don't  you 
know  ?  don't  you  feel  it  ? — feel  that  there  is  something 
shocking  in  the  fact  that  there  wrasn't  enough  bread — 
bread  even  ! — enough  !  That's  the  kind  of  thing  that 
gives  me  positive  pain  when  I  think  of  it  ;  and  that's 
why  I  never  will  think  of  it  if  I  can  help  it.  Physical 
pain  I  can  bear  pretty  well  if  I  set  myself  to  bear  it ;  but 
I  can't  bear  that  sort  of  thing.  When  I  thought  Mon- 
tacute  was  dying — " 

She  stopped  short,  and  dropped  behind  to  wipe  her 
eyes. 

"  The  path  isn't  wide  enough  for  two  here/'  she  said. 
"  You  lead  the  way." 

He  walked  on  ahead. 

"  You  see,"  Babs  resumed,  "  however  much  one  is  de- 
termined to  have  a  good  time  and  never  think  of  painful 
things  they  will  recur  to  one.  Can't  you  charm  the 
pain  away  ?  You  haven't  petted  me  at  all  to-day." 

"  If  I  ever  pet  you  again,  Babs,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  not 
stop  until  you  promise  to  marry  me." 

"  Gracious  !"  Babs  exclaimed.  "  What  a  prospect !" 
She  considered  a  moment.  "  Somehow,"  she  said,  se- 
riously, "  that  offends  me — that  remark  of  yours  ;  I 
cannot  tell  how  or  why." 

"  I  can,  Babs,"  St.  Lambert  answered,  grimly ;  "  and 
I  make  you  a  present  of  the  information  for  your  future 
guidance.  When  a  thing  like  that  offends  you,  it  is  be- 
cause the  wrong  man  says  it." 

365 


M 


CHAPTER    XXXIX 

ISS  SPICE  was  in  a  tremendous  flutter  that  af- 
ternoon. Having  at  last  arrived  at  what  she 
assured  herself  was  really  the  happiest  mo- 
ment of  her  life,  she  was  by  way  of  doing  a 
great  deal  to  express  her  delight.  She  kept  up  a  per- 
petual twittering,  like  a  sparrow  on  a  spout,  and  there 
was  a  perpetual  smile  on  her  face  as  she  flew  about  the 
house,  with  her  tresses  flying  and  every  other  appear- 
ance of  cheerful  industry.  She  carried  a  cup  and  saucer 
into  one  room,  and  a  plate  and  spoon  into  another — not 
that  either  was  wanted  ;  but  what  did  that  matter  ? 
She  meant  to  show  that  she  was  not  a  useless  dandilly, 
but  an  energetic  and  capable  woman  ;  and  as  she  went 
through  the  movements  that  indicate  the  character, 
she  never  doubted  but  that  she  was  making  the  impres- 
sion she  desired.  Her  good  aunt  advised  her  again  and 
again  to  go  and  sit  down  and  not  get  in  the  way  ;  but 
Miss  Spice  chose  to  consider  this  merely  a  manoeuvre  of 
the  good  aunt,  who,  in  the  matter  of  work,  never  played 
fair,  her  habit  being  to  take  upon  herself  the  larger  share. 
Accordingly  Ally  redoubled  her  efforts,  undeterred  by 
the  exasperated  old  lady's  oft-muttered  conviction  that 
she  was  certainly  getting  flighty  beyond  everything. 

The  cause  of  all  this  jubilation  was  the  arrival  of  a 
young  Irish  nephew  of  hers,  all  that  was  left  to  her  now 
of  her  only  brother.  He  had  just  finished  a  brilliant 
university  career  in  Dublin,  and  was  taking  a  look  round 
hunting  up  unknown  relations,  and  hoping  to  find 

366 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

friends  to  help  him  on  in  the  world.  Guy  Spice  was  a 
big  fellow  himself,  but  his  clothes  were  always  much 
bigger  than  he  was.  He  knew  a  great  deal  of  mathe- 
matics, but  was  pretty  generally  supposed  to  be  a  blun- 
derer in  all  matters  social ;  yet  there  were  some  who 
suspected  that  he  was  not  such  an  innocent  as  he  chose 
to  appear.  His  hair  was  coarse  and  black.  Although 
ugly,  with  the  exception  of  his  eyes — fine,  expressive, 
dark-blue  eyes,  in  which  there  was  always  a  merry 
twinkle — and  a  certain  massiveness  of  forehead  which 
betokened  intellectual  capacity,  his  face  habitualty  wore 
an  expression  of  such  genuine  good-nature  that  to  see 
him  was  to  like  him. 

Poor  little  Miss  Spice's  cup  of  delight  would  have 
been  quite  full  for  sure  that  day  but  for  one  thing — the 
larder  was  empty.  It  was  the  principle  of  their  lives  at 
the  Cross  Roads  Cottage  to  pay  ready  money  for  every- 
thing. "  In  that  way  we  keep  going,"  Miss  Spice  said, 
confidentially,  to  the  Japps,  whose  days  were  often  dark- 
ened by  unpaid  bills.  "  We  pay  our  pennies  as  we  go 
along,  you  know,  and  when  we  have  no  pennies  we  just 
do  without.  I  believe  there  are  people  who  get  things 
when  they  want  them,  and  pay  for  them  when  they  can  ; 
but  it's  a  mistake,  my  dear,  I'm  sure  it's  a  mistake. 
There  are  the  poor  tradespeople,  you  know,  to  be  con- 
sidered. They  have  to  pay  their  way,  too  ;  and  how 
are  they  to  pay  their  way  if  we  do  not  ?" 

This  was  unfortunately  one  of  the  days  when  they 
had  no  pennies,  their  little  dividends  not  being  due  till 
the  end  of  the  week ;  and  how  they  were  to  starve  ac- 
cording to  their  principles  and  at  the  same  time  acquit 
themselves  of  the  sacred  rites  of  hospitality  was  the 
question.  There  was  scarcely  tea  and  bread  and  butter 
enough  in  the  house  for  that  afternoon ;  and  all  that 
they  could  collect  from  their  combined  finances  was 
elevenpence-halfpenny. 

367 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  It  '11  have  to  be  tick  this  time,"  Mrs.  Sophia  Pepper 
declared,  "or  selling  something,  or  borrowing." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Miss  Spice,  lifting  her  heroic  little  half- 
starved  face.  "  Something  will  happen,  /  don't  want 
anything,  you  know.  I'm  not  at  all  hungry." 

"  I  wish  I'd  the  same  tale  to  tell,"  the  old  lady  muttered. 
"  I  suppose  I  can  live  on  my  own  fat  for  the  next  few 
days  ;  but  that  don't  prevent  the  sinkings  here  " — and 
she  spread  her  work-worn  palm  on  her  ample  stomach. 

Miss  Spice  retired  to  her  chamber,  bolted  the  door, 
went  down  on  her  knees,  raised  her  clasped  hands  to  the 
bright  blue  strip  of  sky  that  showed  through  the  little 
lattice  window,  and  prayed :  "  Lord,  Lord,  have  mercy 
upon  us,  help  us,  succor  us — send  somebody  with  food  !" 

In  uttering  the  petition,  she  thought  involuntarily  of 
Mr.  Jellybond  Tinnej7.  He,  honest  man,  kept  quite  a 
number  of  poor  ladies  well  supplied,  not  only  with  the 
luxuries  the  rich  are  so  fond  of  giving,  but  also  with  the 
necessaries  that  are  so  much  more  required.  Poor  ladies 
were  his  pet  charity.  But  he  took  no  credit  to  himself 
for  his  kindnesses  to  them — never  thought  of  these  kind- 
nesses a  second  time,  in  fact,  except  to  repeat  them. 
Being  a  methodical  and  businesslike  man,  he  kept  a 
sort  of  rough  diary  of  these  donations,  in  which  were 
such  items  as  : 

"  October  14  :  Pheasants  to  the  following  ladies — 
Japp,  Spice,  Hardy.  Six  tins  of  soup  each." 

"  December  15  :  Florence  Japp.  Gloves  very  shabby. 
Six  pair  from  Paris — peau  de  Suede.  Must  lose  a  bet." 

"  22d  inst. :  Ally  Spice  looks  pinched.  Wants  good 
food.  Fiction  about  having  beef  and  mutton  sent  me. 
Begged  her  to  share  it  in  order  to  save  waste.  Also  six 
bottles  of  Burgundy." 

It  was  late  in  the  morning  that  despair  seized  upon 

368 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

Miss  Spice  ;  but  she  came  down  from  her  devotions 
much  relieved  ;  and  then  began  that  fluttering  and 
bustling  which  was  such  a  source  of  irritation  to  Aunt 
Sophia.  She  settled  herself  in  the  drawing-room  at  last, 
about  afternoon  tea-time,  and  looked  out,  in  prayerful 
expectation  ;  for  the  little  soul  of  Miss  Spice  contained 
the  largest  faith  in  the  countryside. 

When  she  saw  Babs  approaching  with  St.  Lambert 
and  the  basket  she  couldn't  contain  herself. 

"  Now,  Lord  be  thanked  !"  she  exclaimed.  "  I  knew 
it !  I  knew  it  !  I  knew  it  1"  And  every  time  she  said 
"  I  knew  it !"  she  jumped  up  into  the  air. 

Her  nephew  watched  the  performance,  but  made  no 
remark.  He  had  not  been  in  England  before. 

Babs  paused  at  the  gate  and  looked  round. 

"  How  very  much  the  same  the  place  seems,"  she  ex- 
claimed. 

"  Was  it  likely  to  be  altered  since  you  saw  it  ?"  St. 
Lambert  asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  because  the  aspect  of  so  many 
other  things  has  altered  since  1  was  here." 

"  Things  in  the  abstract,  you  mean,"  he  said — "  not 
material  things." 

But  things  in  the  abstract  were  a  bother  to  Babs. 

"  My  only  objection  to  you  is  that  you  will  try  to  make 
me  think,"  she  said.  "  Forbear  !  and  give  me  the  basket. 
Go  into  the  room  on  the  right,  please — the  drawing- 
room — and  don't  break  anything.  I'm  going  to  the 
kitchen." 

Mrs.  Sophia  Pepper,  not  being  of  the  same  class  as 
Ally's  father,  never  appeared  when  visitors  were  there. 
Babs  found  her  stooping  over  the  kitchen  grate,  picking 
up  cinders  from  the  hearth  and  putting  them  under  the 
kettle  to  persuade  it  to  boil  with  half  the  fuel  necessary. 
From  her  shoulders  the  ends  of  a  rusty  black  shawl  de- 
pended, sweeping  the  fender  every  time  she  stooped. 
2  A  369 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

She  always  put  on  that  shawl  for  comfort  when  she  was 
wrestling  with  sinkings  in  the  broad  expanse  of  which 
she  had  complained  earlier  in  the  day.  She  did  not  look 
round  when  Babs  entered,  mistaking  her  step  for  Ally's. 

"  There  you  come  jigging  back,"  she  exclaimed. 
"  Why  on  earth  don't  you  stay  in  your  drawing-room 
to  match  your  Chippendale  chairs  with  your  spindle 
shanks  !  Chippendale  was  invented  to  go  with  riggers 
like  j^ours  in  the  days  when  ladies  professed  to  live  on 
light  and  laughter.  Those  old  workmen  just  suited 
their  out-put  to  all  that  there  was  of  a  woman  at  that 
time — a  feeble  frame,  a  stiff  back,  and  the  pride  of  the 
devil." 

"  Personally,  I  don't  care  to  feel  small,"  said  Babs. 
"  When  I  compare  myself  to  the  universe,  I  don't  feel 
any  pride  in  an  attenuated  body.  Nor  shall  I  shirk  my 
food  for  the  sake  of  my  figure,  nor  squeeze  a  foot,  nor 
cramp  a  hand.  I'm  here  to  have  my  own  idea  of  a  good 
time — not  to  conform  to  the  idiotcies  honored  by  other 
people." 

Mrs.  Sophia  Pepper  started  and  turned  round  at  the 
sound  of  her  voice.  Babs,  as  she  spoke,  went  up  to  her, 
and  insisted  on  shaking  her  by  her  cinder-  soiled  hand. 

"  Don't  you  snub  me,  Mrs.  Sophia  Pepper,"  she  pur- 
sued. "  I've  come  to  be  comforted.  I  have  a  feeling 
of  things  gone  wrong — do  you  know  what  that  is  ?" 

"  Do  I  know  what  anything  else  is  ?"  the  old  lady 
growled,  with  her  hungry  eyes  on  the  eatables  which 
Babs  was  putting  on  the  kitchen  table. 

"  Well,"  said  Babs,  "  it's  a  poor  heart  that  never  re- 
joices, and  I've  got  a  good  appetite,  that's  one  comfort. 
Don't  say  you  haven't,  please,  for  I  can't  eat  alone. 
That's  why  I've  brought  my  tea  here." 

Miss  Spice  came  fluttering  in  at  this  moment  with  her 
hands  in  the  air. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,"  she  said — "  chicken  1  tongue  !    Pdt4 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

de  foie  gras !  dinner  rolls !  butter !  tea  !  cakes !    Sugar !" 
and  at  every  exclamation  she  jumped  up  into  the  air. 

"  It's  a  surprise  party,"  said  Babs — "  a  picnic  for  Sir 
Owen." 

*  But  did  you  know,  my  dear,  did  you  know,  that  we 
have  a  visitor  ?  A  young  man  I  My  nephew,  Guy 
Spice — come  from  Ireland  !  You  didn't  know  I  was  an 
aunt  !  Not  that  there  is  so  very  much  difference  in  our 
ages,"  she  hastened  to  add,  with  the  precaution  of  a  wom- 
an whose  only  hope  is  dependent  on  age  and  appear- 
ance. "  I've  never  felt  so  glad  since  I  was  in  London." 

Guy  Spice's  lines  had  not  hitherto  fallen  in  the  pleas- 
ant places  where  lords  and  ladies  most  do  congregate, 
but  he  was  not  one  to  be  easily  abashed. 

"  One  man's  as  good  as  another,  and  a  great  deal  bet- 
ter," was  the  phrase  he  used  to  express  his  respect  for  all 
and  sundry  who  might  deserve  it,  irrespective  of  class. 
He  was  therefore  at  his  modest  ease  with  Miss  Spice's 
guests,  rather  to  her  surprise  but  much  to  her  admira- 
tion, for  she  had  half  expected  him  to  be  awkward. 

"  Shall  I  be  afther  givin'  ye  a  bit  of  cake,  Sir  Owen  ?" 
he  asked. 

"  Thank  you,  I  won't  trouble  you,"  St.  Lambert  an- 
swered, absently. 

"  Oh,  the  trouble's  a  pleasure,  sor  ;  but  help  yourself," 
Mr.  Spice  replied.  He  found  that  his  aunt  expected  him 
to  speak  Irish,  and  he  was  doing  his  best  to  prevent  dis- 
appointment. "  Me  aunt  tells  me  ye  live  in  furrin  parts, 
sor,"  he  pursued.  "  Is  it  nice  it  is  out  there  now  ?  Mic 
Magowan  went  to  Australia,  but  he  came  back  sharp. 
I  asked  him  what  it  was  like  at  all  at  all,  and  he  ses, 
'  Oh,  Guy,  me  boy/  ses  he,  '  but  it's  a  foine  place  to 
live  out  of.'  But  mebbe  you're  not  in  Australia,  Sir 
Owen." 

,  "  Not  at  present,"  St.  Lambert  answered.     "  I'm  in  the 
East." 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

BabvS  caught  a  twinkle  in  the  Irishman's  eye,  and 
noticed  from  that  moment  that  he  and  St.  Lambert  were 
in  touch. 

"  Will  there  be  an  opening  in  your  part  of  the  world  for 
a  promising  young  man  of  the  clerical  persuasion,  d'  ye 
think  ?"  Guy  asked. 

"  Oh,  Guy  !"  fluttered  Miss  Spice,  "  you  would  never 
think  of  going  away  to  one  of  those  dreadful  climates  1" 

"  I'd  be  glad  of  the  chance/'  he  replied.  "And  as  to 
dreadful — look  at  Sir  Owen  there  !" 

"  Oh,  but  think,  with  all  those  letters  after  your  name  ! 
If  you  stay  here  and  go  into  the  Church,  you  might  rise 
to  be  a  rector  in  time  !" 

"  True  for  ye,"  said  Guy.  "  I  moight.  But  I  should 
have  to  live  on  the  prospect  meanwhile,  and  that's  like 
fillin'  your  mouth  with  an  empty  spoon.  It's  hard  to 
whistle  widout  the  upper  lip,  Aunt  Ally,  dear  ;  and  a 
man's  degree  don't  count  for  much  in  the  old  counthry  if 
he's  got  no  money  to  speak  of,  nor  friends,  nor  intro- 
ductions to  back  him.  Besides,  I  want  more  elbow-room . 
Here  men's  faculties  are  getting  to  be  too  evenly  bal- 
anced because  of  the  crowd.  There  isn't  room  enough 
for  individual  expansion  in  any  one  direction." 

"  There's  truth  in  what  you  say,"  St.  Lambert  an- 
swered, speaking  with  an  effort.  "  I  should  like  to  dis- 
cuss your  prospects  with  you.  Are  you  doing  anything 
just  now  ?  I  have  to  walk  back  with  Miss  Lorraine,  but 
if  she  did  not  mind — "  St.  Lambert  was  doggedly  de- 
termined not  to  walk  back  with  Babs  alone.  He  was 
cultivating  weakness  by  allowing  himself  to  doubt  his 
own  strength. 

Babs  did  not  mind  a  bit.  On  the  contrary,  she  was 
unflatteringly  pleased  to  add  the  Irishman  to  her  escort. 

Miss  Spice  watched  them  depart,  all  three  together, 
and  felt  herself  a  success  for  the  first  time  in  her  life. 
She  shook  back  her  curls,  and  ran  about  holding  up  her 

372 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

arms  as  if  she  would  flutter  up  to  the  ceiling,  so  light 
was  her  heart.  Sir  Owen  did  not  fill  the  same  space 
either  in  her  estimation  or  in  her  house  as  that  other  dear 
man,  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  ;  but  oh  !  but  oh  !  she  did 
sometimes  feel  that  the  quality  of  him  was  superior. 

It  was  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney,  however,  who,  that 
evening,  in  a  graceful  note,  begged  her  acceptance  of  a 
fine  sirloin  of  beef  and  a  sack  of  potatoes  ;  for  which,  as 
a  lonely  bachelor,  he  had  no  use. 

On  the  way  back  from  Dane  Court,  St.  Lambert  asked 
Guy  Spice  if  he  had  decided  upon  a  profession. 

"  Well,  I  think  so,  pretty  well,"  he  answered.  "  I've 
had  hankerings  after  the  medical,  but  I  think  it  will  be 
the  Chvirch.  I  had  a  chum  at  college,  a  medical  student, 
a  shrimp  of  a  fellow,  straight  up  and  down  like  a  yard  of 
pump  water,  and  lithe  enough  to  tread  down  meal  in  the 
barrel  of  a  fowling-piece — his  line  wras  the  medical.  He's 
a  clever  varmint  who'll  make  his  name  ;  and  he  almost 
persuaded  me.  But  I'm  hankering  after  the  Church." 

"  The  Church  militant  then,  I  suppose  ?" 

Guy  laughed. 

"  The  Church  manly,  at  any  rate,"  he  said,  after  a 
pause.  "  No  millinery  for  me,  and  no  morbid  medigeval- 
ism.  Nature  is  God's  law,  and  that's  good  enough  for 
me  ;  Nature  abhors  celibacy.  We  don't  want  to  see  the 
wholesome,  healthy  creed  of  Christ  overlaid  with  morbid 
mediaevalisms  in  this  country,  I  say  ;  but  that's  the 
danger  threatening — the  rule  of  the  celibate  priest, 
which  has  wrecked  every  country  upon  which  it  has 
obtained  a  hold.  In  Nature,  it  is  said,  there  are  no  re- 
wards and  punishments,  there  are  consequences  ;  and 
the  consequences  of  celibacy  are  dire." 

373 


CHAPTER    X  L 

THE  next  morning,  immediately  after  breakfast, 
General  St.  Lambert  arrived  at  Dane  Court. 
He  encountered  Barbara  Land  in  the  hall.  She 
was  surprised  to  see  him  so  early,  and  also  con- 
cerned because  he  looked  haggard  and  anxious. 

"  I've  come  to  say  good-bye  to  you  all,"  he  said.  "  I'm 
off  by  the  next  mail.  I've  been  up  all  night  packing. 
It's  rather  a  rush." 

Barbara  looked  up  at  him  gravely.  She  seemed  to 
understand.  At  all  events  she  asked  no  questions  ;  but 
she  sighed  heavily. 

"  I  shall  miss  you  dreadfully,"  she  said.  "  Things 
are  not  coming  right.  I'm  disheartened." 

"About  Babs?" 

"  Yes." 

They  had  turned  into  the  Pompadour  room,  the  room 
made  memorable  to  St.  Lambert  by  the  scene  with  Caden- 
house.  He  had  not  entered  it  since  that  morning,  and 
now,  as  he  looked  around,  he  was  seized  by  a  flood  of 
painful  recollection.  He  suffered  more  in  the  retrospect, 
though,  than  he  had  done  at  the  moment.  There  is  a 
certain  interest  and  excitement  in  the  action  of  a  scene 
which  is  altogether  absent  from  the  retrospect ;  hence 
the  chill  impression  that  depresses.  St.  Lambert  had 
gone  through  some  novel  phases  since  he  had  made  the 
acquaintance  of  that  room,  and  there  was  sufficient 
change  in  his  point  of  view  to  awaken  the  sensation 
which  Babs  had  experienced  the  day  before  when  she 

374 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

found  no  change  in  the  aspect  of  scenes  familiar  to  corre- 
spond with  the  change  in  herself.  The  fact  that  the 
room  was  the  same  emphasized  the  difference  St.  Lam- 
bert felt  in  himself — and  exposed  it. 

"  I  ought  to  have  gone  long  ago,"  slipped  from  him 
unawares. 

Again  Barbara  looked  at  him  gravely,  but  asked  no 
question. 

"  What  do  you  say  ?"  he  asked,  after  a  pause. 

Then  she  smiled. 

"  I  say  that  it  is  strange  that  you,  my  beloved  guardian, 
who  have  guided  and  directed  me  so  wisely  all  my  life, 
should  come  to  me  for  advice,"  she  answered,  playfully. 
"  But  since  you  ask  me,  I  think — I  think  if  you  go  you 
will  do  well,  as  you  always  do.  There  is  nothing  to  be 
done  here  now  that  you  can  do." 

"  I  should  like  to  be  sure  that  there  is  something  still 
for  you  to  do,"  he  said ;  "  but  what  was  that  you  said 
about  being  disheartened  ?" 

Barbara  hesitated. 

"  I  feel  that  I  am  useless  here,"  she  said,  at  last.  "  I 
am  doing  your  little  girl  no  good.  No  one  could  help 
her,  tied  and  bound  as  I  am  by  every  convention.  I 
have  half  made  up  my  mind  to  resign  my  post  and  take 
to  literature.  You  know  I  have  a  pretty  trick  of  smart- 
ness. And  I  should  soon  learn,  like  the  rest,  to  make 
side  slashes  with  my  pen  at  other  women  writers  just  to 
show  my  superiority  to  every  code  which  does  not  em- 
brace the  recognized  antagonism  of  woman  to  woman. 
Then  the  critics  would  say  I  could  write." 

*  Don't  be  bitter,  Barbara." 

"  Why  did  you  impose  such  an  impossible  task  upon 
me  ?"  she  demanded.  "  Why  did  you  set  me  to  develop 
such  a  girl  ?  She  has  no  soul  at  all." 

"  So  I  hear  every  one  say,"  he  answered,  dryly. 

Barbara  looked  at  him  sharply. 

375 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  You  suspect  that  she  has  a  soul,"  was  her  reflection. 
"  Well,  you  may  be  right.  The  eyes  of  love  see  deep." 

"  Barbara,"  he  said,  "  I  begin  to  suspect  that  you  have 
not  arrived  at  that  suspension  of  the  worrying  faculties 
which  rests  the  body  and  at  the  same  time  encourages 
the  spirit  to  speak.  Well,  I  understand  your  dishearten- 
ment  among  these  thralls  of  custom.  I  have  often  asked 
myself  the  meaning  of  it  all  since  I  came  back  this  time 
— this  casual  life,  these  ridiculous  elderly  people,  feeding 
and  flirting ;  this  flawless  Cadenhouse,  not  known  to  be  a 
man  of  even  one  weakness,  dominating  the  place  whether 
he  be  here  or  not,  and  always  more  or  less  invisible — 
busy,  self-absorbed,  making  his  own  soul  up  there  in 
that  high  tower  on  the  hill,  careless  of  all  else.  This  girl 
Julia,  scheming  already  for  worldly  possessions ;  this 
girl  Babs,  frankly  a  little  Pagan,  living  for  her  senses 
alone,  even  if  for  her  finer  senses,  but  still,  as  one  per- 
ceives in  flashes,  with  something  in  her  beyond — possi- 
bilities which  add  to  the  pity  of  it  because  they  are  not 
being  developed.  Mrs.  Kingconstance,  Mrs.  Japp  and 
Florence,  poor  little  Ally  Spice,  Fanny  Sturdy,  all  inno- 
cently engaged  in  the  pursuit  of  man,  their  one  pursuit 
in  life,  man-hunting  extraordinary.  Then  my  sister — 
that  mother  of  many  of  whom  one  would  like  to  have 
said  that  she  had  chosen  the  better  part,  only  that  the 
fact  is  that  she  never  would  have  chosen  that  better  part 
had  she  had  any  choice  in  the  matter.  She  has  only  the 
animal  instinct  of  maternity,  which  urges  the  mother  to 
protect  her  young  while  they  are  helpless  ;  once  they 
can  run  alone,  she  lets  them  go  —  uninfluenced,  un- 
guided,  uninformed  in  any  of  the  principles  that  make 
noble  men  and  women  ;  launches  them  into  the  world 
fit  for  nothing  but  to  join  the  wretched  mob  of  wastrels 
whose  only  function  seems  to  be  to  add  to  the  miserable 
complications  of  life.  And  why  are  they  all  such  fail- 
ures ?  Because  they  are  all  deliberately  trivial." 

376 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  The  position  is  hopeless  !"  Barbara  mourned. 

"  No,  I  don't  agree  with  you  there/'  he  replied.  "  I 
don't  agree  because  of  Lorraine  Kingconstance.  When 
I  was  here  last  hers  was  one  of  the  most  hopeless  cases 
of  all,  apparently,  a  case  of  an  unhealthy  mind  making 
mischief  in  a  healthy  body.  But  there  has  come  to  her 
in  the  interval  some  strange  awakening — something 
which  has  made  her  life  purposeful  and  is  saving  her. 
And  she  was  very  far  gone.  She  had  even  lost  the  sense 
of  the  weight  of  words.  Yet  you  see  her  now,  interested 
in  everything  !" 

"  What  roused  her  ?" 

"  Heaven  knows  !"  he  said  ;  "  but  roused  is  just  the 
word.  And  that  is  what  they  all  want  here — to  be  roused, 
to  be  taken  out  of  themselves,  to  be  given  an  objective 
interest  in  life  ;  to  be  made  to  feel  that  what  they  are 
and  say  and  do  signifies.  In  such  places  the  past  lin- 
gers, the  present  finds  it  hard  to  penetrate.  You  remem- 
ber your  reception  by  Lady  May  on  the  sole  supposition 
that  you  did  not  subscribe  to  some  of  her  prejudices  ? 
She  is  almost  civil  to  you  now,  I  believe." 

"  More  than  civil,"  said  Barbara.  "  She  has  abso- 
lutely gushed — she  must  have  heard  that  I  am  a  de- 
scendant of  the  ancient  Lords  of  Land.  How  it  does 
irritate  one,  that  sort  of  snobbery  !" 

"  It  is  detestable,"  he  answered.  "  Still,  I  maintain 
that  they  are  not  all  hopeless.  Here,  even  here,  in  the 
whole  country-side,  working,  filling  up  the  intervals  of 
life  and  thought,  is  the  spirit — the  divine  spirit  that 
makes  for  progress." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke. 

"  Then  you  are  really  going  ?" 

"  Yes.  I  want  to  see  my  little  girl  before  I  face  the 
family.  Then  I  am  off." 

"  But  have  you  no  orders  for  me  ?" 

"  Orders  ?  No  !  I  have  nothing  for  you  but  the  old 

377 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

watchword,  Barbara — your  father's  last  word  to  me 
when  he  had  given  you  into  my  safe-keeping  :  I  rely 
upon  you." 

"  If  I  can  help  it,  you  shall  not  rely  in  vain,"  she 
said. 

He  kissed  her  forehead  paternally,  and  let  her  go. 

A  few  minutes  afterwards  Babs  swept  into  the  room, 
slammed  the  door  vehemently,  and  fell  into  a  tragic  at- 
titude. 

"  What's  this  I  hear  ?"  she  cried. 

"  That  I  am  going." 

"  Oh,  but  you  can't  go,  you  know.     I  want  you." 

"  May  1  ask  for  what  particular  purpose  ?"  he  inquired, 
with  smiling  irony. 

"  To  amuse  me,  of  course,"  she  said,  frankly. 

"  I  thought  so,"  he  replied.  "  It  does  not  seem  to  have 
occurred  to  you  that  there  are  other  pursuits  which  might 
amuse  me  more." 

*  The  possibility  presents  itself  to  me  now,"  she  said  ; 
"  but  the  probability  does  not." 

He  twinkled. 

"  I  am  going,  however,"  he  said. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  are  going  without  even 
having  proposed  to  me  properly  ?  How  dare  you  !  and 
after  having  talked  so  much  about  it,  too  !  How  do  you 
know  I  shall  not  begin  to  break  my  heart  directly  the 
hall-door  has  shut  upon  you  ?" 

"  It  would  be  a  redeeming  point  in  your  character  if 
you  did,"  he  said.  "  It  would  show  that  you  are  capable 
of  caring  for  somebody  besides  yourself." 

Babs  was  staggered.  She  had  been  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  delivering  herself  of  her  sentiments 
with  her  accustomed  emphasis  ;  now  she  went  forward 
and  sat  down  on  the  corner  of  a  couch. 

St.  Lambert  drew  up  an  easy-chair,  and  sat  so  that  he 
could  see  her  face.  He  had  responded  to  her  in  a  banter- 

378 


YOU    ARE    GOING   WITHOUT   EVEN     HAVING    PROPOSED   TO    ME 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

ing  tone  ;  but  there  was  something  in  his  eyes  that  so- 
bered her. 

From  the  white  panelled  walls  the  eighteenth  century 
smiled  down  upon  them.  Babs  knew  that  the  eyes  of 
the  lord  and  lady  shepherds  and  shepherdesses  were 
fixed  upon  her  ;  she  fancied  the  rustle  of  brocade  as  they 
settled  to  closer  attention  ;  she  felt  them  twitch  the  blue 
ribbons  by  which  the  lambs  were  led  ;  she  detected  faint 
odors  of  old-world  perfumes — dried  roses  mingled  with 
lavender,  cinnamon,  clove,  and  musk.  That  the  eigh- 
teenth century  should  gaze  with  rapt  attention  upon 
the  nineteenth  seemed  natural  to  Babs.  She  looked 
out  of  the  window,  down  the  long  avenue,  and  was  re- 
minded of  the  misty  morning  when  Cadenhouse  came 
riding,  radiant,  to  claim  her  promise.  In  her  heart  she 
did  not  believe  he  never  would  come  again. 

"  Why  do  you  shrug  your  shoulders,  Babs  ?"  St.  Lam- 
bert asked. 

*  I  was  saying  to  myself  I  don't  care." 

*  Do  you  mean  it  ?" 

*  No.     I  don't  know.     I  was  reminded  of  Cadenhouse 
— that  morning.     There  is  a  terrible  barrier  between  us 
when  one  comes  to  think  of  it.    He  hasn't  any  sense  of 
humor.    And  how  can  two  people  agree  who  don't  laugh 
at  the  same  things  ?" 

"  Why  laugh  at  all  ?"  St.  Lambert  said.  "  There's  a 
higher  happiness  than  that." 

"  Indeed  !"  said  Babs,  politely. 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  It  doesn't  seem  right  somehow  that  you  should  be 
going  now,"  she  said,  at  last. 

"  If  I  could  do  you  any  good  by  staying,  I  should 
stay,"  he  replied. 

"  I  wonder  what  you  mean  by  '  good,'  "  said  Babs. 
"  For  of  course  you  do  me  good.  There's  a  lightness 
and  brightness  in  the  atmosphere  the  moment  you  ap- 

379 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

pear,  and  an  end  of  every  attempt  to  improve  the  occa- 
sion which  does  me  more  good  than  anything." 

"  Are  you  determined  to  spend  your  life  in  the  pursuit 
of  pleasure  ?"  he  answered,  indirectly. 

"  Certainly,"  she  said.     "  What  else  is  there  to  do  ?" 

"  Well,  you  might  vary  the  monotony  of  one  pursuit 
by  adding  another  to  it,"  he  suggested.  "  You  might 
also  be  developing  your  soul." 

Babs  laughed  derisively. 

"  You  know  that  I  have  no  soul,"  she  said. 

"  I  know  that  they  say  so,"  he  replied.  "  But  I  be- 
lieve that  you  have  a  soul,  and  a  brave  little  soul,  too." 

Babs  looked  gratified. 

"  Now  that  is  nice  I"  she  exclaimed.  "  I  don't  know 
why,  but  it  pleases  me  more  than  anything  that  has 
ever  been  said  to  me." 

"  That  is  because  the  ambition  which  you  secretly 
cherish  is  to  have  a  soul,"  he  said. 

Her  eyes  fell  ;  she  was  thinking. 

"And  as  to  making  pleasure  the  pursuit  of  your  life," 
he  continued,  "  no  pleasure,  I  assure  you,  would  result 
from  that.  That  would  be  making  a  business  of  it ;  and 
the  moment  you  do  that  you  change  its  character.  Busi- 
ness is  not  pleasure,  you  know." 

"  Of  course  not,"  she  said.  "  I  love  to  hear  you  talk- 
ing about  me.  I  do  so  enjoy  myself  as  a  subject  of  con- 
versation. Tell  me  my  faults.  Which  is  the  great- 
est ?" 

"  Want  of  aspiration,"  he  answered.  "  You  are  train- 
ing yourself  to  be  nothing  but  a  sensuous  little  animal." 

"  1  know,"  she  said.  "  I  know  I'm  not  so  nice  as  I  was 
when  I  was  younger.  I  was  nearer  to  something  then 
— something  I  seem  to  have  lost  since — since  I  lost  touch 
with  Cadenhouse.  But  go  on — go  on.  I  like  to  hear 
you  talk.  You  put  things  in  a  way  I  like.  You  ap- 
peal to  some  sense  in  me  that  responds  pleasantly.  I 

380 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

sometimes  suspect  that  I  don't  know  a  bit  how  to  live, 
and  I  am  sure,  until  you  came,  no  one  ever  tried  to  teach 
me.  Barbara  would,  I  think,  if  I  let  her  ;  but  as  I  al- 
ways snub  her  when  I  suspect  that  she  is  about  to  begin, 
her  teaching  has  not  as  yet  amounted  to  much.  Still, 
I  perceive  that  the  New  Woman  has  aspirations  and 
ideals  which  I  have  not.  Aunt  Lorraine  is  a  specimen 
of  what  the  Old  Woman  with  aspirations  becomes.  She 
had  to  stifle  her  aspirations  for  want  of  an  outlet,  and 
there  was  nothing  left  for  her  to  do  but  to  pray ;  so  she 
prayed — prayed  her  hopes  of  happiness  to  death.  Julia 
is  a  specimen  of  the  Old  Woman  without  aspirations, 
with  nothing  but  a  common  philosophy ;  she  preys, 
too,  in  her  way — she  is  born  to  prey  on  society,  to  be 
a  tremendous  social  success.  I  am  the  outcome,  too,  of 
the  old  rotten  house  of  bondage,  but  I  am  the  reaction 
from  it ;  you  can't  control  me ;  it  is  my  nature  to  be 
outrageous." 

"  It  is  your  habit,  not  your  nature,  to  be  outrageous," 
he  replied.  "  Had  anybody  taken  you  in  hand  in  time 
to  correct  the  habit  it  would  never  have  grown  upon 
you.  But  it  is  still  possible  to  break  yourself  of  it ;  you 
have  only  to  give  yourself  time  to  think.  You  must 
give  yourself  time  for  everything.  You  don't  take  your 
life  in  proper  slow  time,  that's  the  difficulty.  You  try 
to  rush  through  everything.  In  the  matter  of  a  book, 
for  instance — do  you  seek  to  prolong  the  pleasure  when 
it  interests  you  ?  Not  a  bit  of  it !  You  flip  through  it, 
the  faster  the  better,  and  gather  from  it  nothing  but  an 
overload  of  undigested  ideas,  which  resolve  themselves 
into  opinions  mainly  indicative  of  want  of  comprehen- 
sion, sterility  of  thought,  narrowness  of  mind,  and  ab- 
sence of  heart.  Sympathetic  insight  is  a  faculty  that 
must  have  free  play  ;  hustle  it  and  it  cannot  act ;  give 
it  time  and  you  reap  a  rich  reward  of  extra  enjoyment 
in  yourself,  of  extra  appreciation  from  others." 

381 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  That's  nice,  too"  said  Babs.  "  Why  didn't  you  talk 
like  that  before  ?" 

Her  tone  was  entirely  perfunctory,  and  she  was  look- 
ing about  her  as  she  spoke.  He  could  not  tell  if  she  had 
even  heard  what  he  said.  He  waited  a  little. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about,  Babs?"  he  said,  at  last. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  the  difference  between  us,"  she  an- 
swered, ruefully. 

"  The  difference  between  seventeen  and  forty,"  slip- 
ped from  him  unawares. 

"  Nonsense  !"  she  said.  "  What  difference  does  that 
make  ?  It  was  the  difference  between  your  ideals  and 
mine  that  struck  me.  I  almost  wish — that  yours  were 
mine  !  And  so  you  are  really  going  ?"  She  sighed. 
"  I  feel  it  strangely  blank — the  prospect — without  you." 

St.  Lambert  was  twisting  his  mustache  nervously. 
He  had  risen. 

"  Good-bye,  little  girl,"  he  said.  "  I  wish  I  could  be 
sure  that  you  would  make  a  friend  of  Barbara  while  I 
am  away." 

"  Then  you  don't  propose  to  stay  away  forever,"  Babs 
said,  rising  also  as  she  spoke. 

"  I  propose  to  come  back  the  moment  you  want  me.  If 
you  are  in  any  difficulty,  if  you  ever  want  a  friend,  send 
for  me  without  hesitation.  See  " — he  sat  down  at  a  writ- 
ing-table and  wrote — "  see,  here  is  an  address  which  will 
always  find  me." 

Babs  took  the  paper  from  his  hand  mechanically. 

"  It's  horribly  depressing,  all  this,"  she  complained. 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  her. 

"  I  think  I  shall  kiss  you  good-bye,"  she  said,  putting 
her  hands  on  his  shoulders.  She  pressed  her  lips  to  his 
neck.  "  How  nice  you  smell !"  she  observed.  "  What 
sort  of  soap  do  you  use  ?" 

"  Well,  really,  Babs — isn't  that  inquiry  somewhat  in- 
timate ?" 

382 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

Babs  stood  off  from  him  considering. 

"  I  wondei  why  I  should  have  chosen  that  particular 
piece  of  idiotcy  from  among  all  my  thoughts  at  this  mo- 
ment— chosen  to  give  utterance  to  it  ?"  she  wanted  to 
know.  "  Do  you  find  after  a  thrilling  interview  that 
you  always  suffer  more  for  one  particular  piece  of  idiotcy 
than  for  any  of  the  others  ?  That  is  the  one  I  shall  suf- 
fer for  this  time.  What  sort  of  soap  do  you  use  ?  Good 
heavens  !  I  could  tear  myself  up  when  I  think  of  it.  I 
have  so  many  things  in  my  mind  all  at  once,  and  all 
clamoring  for  expression.  If  language  allowed  it,  I 
could  express  a  dozen  different  sensations  at  the  same 
moment.  Little  bits  of  such  a  fabric  of  feeling  jerked 
out  staccato  must  seem  absurd.  .  .  .  Good-bye,  then, 
since  it  must  be  good-bye  I" 

"  Good-bye,"  he  responded.  "  You  will  be  grown  up, 
perhaps,  the  next  time  I  see  you ;  but,  on  my  word,  I 
don't  know  whether  I  wish  it  or  not.  Good-bye  means 
'  God  bless  you/  ' 

"  Let's  hope  He  will,"  said  Babs. 

She  could  not  eat  her  luncheon  that  day,  a  circum- 
stance which  she  very  much  resented. 

*  Why  on  earth  these  comings  and  goings  should  spoil 
everything,  I  can't  imagine,"  she  said.  "  I  should  have 
thought  it  enough  to  lose  one's  friends  without  losing 
one's  appetite.  0  Misery  !  What  sort  of  soap  do  you 
use?" 

383 


CHAPTER     XLI 

PUT  the  fire  to  the  pump,  Aunt  Ally,  dear/'  said 
Guy  Spice.  "He'd  be  under  a  very  bad  char- 
acter that  I  wouldn't  have  a  cup  of  tea  wid 
this  minute." 

"  Oh,  really  !"  cried  little  Miss  Spice.  "  I'm  so  glad. 
I'll  get  you  one  directly." 

Miss  Spice  with  her  nephew  was  like  a  child  with  a 
new  pet,  never  so  happy  as  when  she  could  see  him  eat 
— a  weakness  which  Guy  had  been  quick  to  perceive 
and  careful  to  encourage.  But  he  was  no  sponge,  Guy 
Spice.  He  soon  gathered  from  observation  how  strait- 
ened the  circumstances  of  his  kinswomen  were,  and 
had  only  consented  to  remain  with  them  on  condition 
that  they  allowed  him  to  share  expenses.  After  some 
argument  he  managed  to  take  upon  himself  the  lion's 
.share ;  but  he  had  to  prove  first  that  his  patrimony  really 
did  exceed  two  hundred  a  year  by  some  shillings. 

This  sudden  increase  of  income  was  having  the  hap- 
piest effect  upon  the  twro  good  women  at  the  Cross  Roads 
Cottage.  Mrs.  Sophia  Pepper  was  frequently  seen  to 
smile,  and  Ally  had  lost  her  half-starved  look,  and  was 
becoming  plump  for  her,  and  rosy. 

"  Why  don't  you  always  have  a  paying  guest,  Aunt 
Ally,  dear  ?"  her  nephew  asked  her,  at  dinner  one 
day. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  !"  she  exclaimed  "  Surely  you  don't 
mean  it?  A  gentlewoman  couldn't  do  such  a  thing." 

"  A  gentlewoman  with  any  common-sense  puts  her 
384 


own  comfort  before  everybody's  opinion,"  he  answered, 
sententiously.  "  Happiness  comes  from  the  inside,  not 
from  the  out.  You  get  together  a  nice  little  party  in 
your  own  house — you've  room  enough  ;  and  they'd 
come,  too,  fast  enough,  in  the  summer,  for  the  sake  of 
the  pine-woods  alone — you  get  them  together  and  smile 
at  the  neighborhood.  If  any  other  gentlewoman  ob- 
jects, let  her  !  You'll  be  having  a  lively  time,  and  she'll 
not  be  missed." 

"  Oh,  Guy !"  Miss  Spice  exclaimed,  clasping  her 
hands.  "  Could  IT 

"  Of  course  you  could,"  grumped  Mrs.  Sophia  Pepper  ; 
"  but  it  '11  take  a  man  all  his  time  to  convince  you.  The 
only  drawback  I  see  is  the  empty  rooms  up -stairs. 
Where's  the  furniture  to  come  from  ?" 

"  If  that's  all — "  said  Guy  Spice,  and  fell  a-thinking. 

He  had  just  returned  from  a  stroll  in  the  village  when 
he  asked  for  his  tea  that  afternoon.  Hitherto  he  had 
lived  in  large  cities,  where  it  was  crowds  and  not  individ- 
uals he  had  to  study ;  and  he  found  life  in  Danehurst 
like  looking  at  human  nature  under  a  microscope,  so 
unduly  exaggerated  was  the  importance  of  every  trifle. 
He  wandered  about  continually,  making  friends  and 
picking  up  information.  Our  opinion  of  people  depends 
less  upon  what  we  see  in  them  than  upon  what  they 
make  us  see  in  ourselves,  and  their  attitude  towards  us. 
It  is  an  unmannerly  person  indeed  who  does  not  respond, 
at  least  for  the  moment,  to  a  friendly  attitude  ;  but  it  is 
the  knack  of  inspiring  self-satisfaction  that  makes  most 
adherents ;  and  Guy  was  richly  endowed  with  that  knack. 
He  had  found  Danehurst  deserted  that  afternoon  by  all 
save  the  village  drunkard,  who  lay  asleep  in  the  sun, 
and  a  small  boy  who  was  stirring  him  up  with  a  stick. 
Guy  knew  the  man  well.  He  had  often  watched  him 
making  diagonal  tracks  up  the  hill  to  his  hut  in  the  wood, 
and  heard  him  telling  himself  encouragingly,  as  he  stag- 

2B  385 


BARS      THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

gered  from  side  to  side  :  "  It'sh  all  a  matter  o'  time, 
Cherlie  ;  it'sh  all  a  matter  o'  time." 

When  he  was  not  out  of  doors,  Guy  would  stand  by 
the  hour  together  in  the  drawing-room  window,  looking 
up  and  down  the  cross-roads,  and  asking  questions  of 
his  aunt  about  all  who  passed. 

"  And  who  may  she  be  ?"  he  now  asked  as  he  took  his 
tea,  alluding  to  a  trim  little  person  in  the  freshest  of 
frocks  and  most  becoming  of  hats. 

"  Oh,  that's  Bertha  from  Dane  Court."  his  aunt  in- 
formed him. 

Bertha  went  smiling  by,  although  there  was  nothing 
much  to  smile  at,  unless  it  were  a  stray  goose  which 
was  wandering  down  the  road,  and  the  village  con- 
stable looking  as  if  he  longed  to  take  it  up  for  tres- 
pass. 

"  What  an  eye  she's  got !"  Guy  observed.  "  She  can 
see  behind  her  like  a  hare.  And,  bedad,  she  knows 
there's  somebody  looking  at  her,  for  she  is  blushing  be- 
hind the  ear  like  a  beggar-man  taking  a  copper.  What 
man  o'  business  may  she  be,  Aunt  Ally,  dear  ?" 

Miss  Spice  put  her  hands  behind  her  to  feel  how  far 
her  hair  hung  down  her  back,  and  giggled. 

"  How  can  you  call  a  girl  a  man  of  business,  Guy  ?" 
she  remonstrated.  "  She's  the  young  lady's  maid.  Her 
father  was  a  well-to-do  farmer,  but  he  died  ;  and  her 
brother's  a  bad  lot,  and  she  couldn't  live  with  him  ;  and 
her  mother  was  dead  before  :  so  she  went  out.  But 
she's  quite  superior,  and  Miss  Lorraine  thinks  a  great 
deal  of  her." 

"  Bedad,  so  do  I,"  said  Guy  Spice. 

"  She  used  to  be  maid  to  both  young  ladies  before  they 
grew  up,"  his  aunt  discreetly  pursued  ;  "  but  last  year 
Miss  Julia  would  have  a  French  maid  of  her  own,  so 
now  Bertha  belongs  to  Miss  Lorraine." 

"  She'll  be  going  on  an  errand  now,  I  suppose,"  said 

386 


BABS      THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

Guy  Spice.  *  What  are  you  going  to  do  yourself  this 
afternoon  ?" 

"  Some  sewing,"  said  Miss  Spice. 

"  Then  you'll  not  come  out  ?  Well,  I'm  thinking  I'd 
like  another  stroll  when  I've  finished  my  tea,  and  a  pipe, 
by  your  leave.  You  ought  to  smoke,  Aunt  Ally,  dear, 
you  really  ought." 

Miss  Spice  shook  back  her  curls  and  ran  out  of  the 
room  at  the  bare  suggestion. 

Pretty  Bertha,  tripping  merrily  back  to  Dane  Court, 
humming  a  tune,  suddenly  found  herself  confronted  in  a 
solitary  lane  by  a  tall,  awkward-looking  fellow  in  ill-cut 
clothes.  She  showed  some  alarm. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Guy.  "  Will  you  be  afther 
telling  me  if  you've  lost  anything,  please." 

Bertha  felt  in  her  pocket. 

"  No.  I — don't  think — I've — lost  anything,"  she  said 
dubiously,  while  she  felt  if  her  brooch  was  there  and  her 
watch-chain  safe. 

"  Why  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  just  because,  if  you  had,"  he  answered,  oblig- 
ingly, "  I  thought  I'd  be  glad  to  help  you  to  find  it." 

Bertha  laughed. 

"And  which  way  will  you  be  going  ?"  he  asked. 

"  To  Dane  Court." 

"  Why,  so  am  1.  I'm  going  to  pay  my  respects  to  the 
family." 

"  You're  coming  from  there,"  said  Bertha,  dimpling. 

"  Oh,  'deed  thin,  it's  easy  to  turn  round,"  he  answered. 
"  And,  faix,  since  1  heard  your  voice,  it's  meself  doesn't 
know  whether  I  met  you,  or  whether  I  overtook  you." 

"  Here's  Miss  Kingconstance  coming,"  Bertha  warned 
him. 

"  Well,  Miss  Bertha,"  he  said,  dropping  his  bantering 
tone,  "  what  difference  does  that  make  ?  Am  I  to 
believe  that  you  pay  yourself  the  doubtful  compliment 

387 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

of  supposing  that  I  should  only  speak  to  you  on  the 
sly  ?" 

"  There's  a  difference  of  position,  sir,"  said  Bertha, 
demurely. 

"  All  the  more  reason  that  I  should  not  presume." 

"  The  gentry  about  here  think  differently,"  she  an- 
swered. 

"  Bother  the  gentry  !"  he  responded,  cheerfully.  Miss 
Kingconstance  had  overtaken  them  by  this  time,  and  he 
lifted  his  hat  to  her. 

There  was  a  buzz  of  conversation  in  the  great  drawing- 
room  at  Dane  Court  when  Miss  Kingconstance  entered  it, 
followed  by  Guy  Spice.  Mr.  Jelly  bond  Tinney  was  hold- 
ing forth. 

"  We  have  fallen  on  troublous  times,"  he  was  saying, 
"  on  very  troublous  times.  I  regret  to  say  our  relations 
with  foreign  powers  are  not  satisfactory." 

"  Bedad,"  said  Guy  Spice,  pausing  on  his  way  to  shake 
hands  with  Mrs.  Kingconstance,  "  bedad,  there's  Mr. 
Jellybond  Tinney  laughing  at  the  ladies  as  usual." 

"  Sir  ]"  said  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney. 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  flattering  ye,"  said  Mr.  Guy  Spice.  "  I'm 
just  telling  the  truth.  You  needn't  mind,  you  know. 
You're  much  worse  than  they  say  you  are.  Miss  Land, 
I  ask  your  opinion  ?" 

Barbara  smiled  enigmatically. 

"  We  are  just  going  to  have  some  music,"  Mrs.  King- 
constance said,  stiffly.  She  had  noticed  before  that  Guy 
Spice  always  managed  to  jar  with  Mr.  Jellybond  Tin- 
ney when  they  met.  It  was  evident  that  the  Irishman 
did  not  love  her  friend  and  she  resented  the  fact.  "  Miss 
Land,  please  sing  us  something." 

"  I'll  try,"  said  Barbara,  going  to  the  piano.  "  But 
I'm  afraid  I  can  t ;  I'm  very  hoarse  to-day." 

"  Of  course,  if  you  can't — 1"  said  Mrs.  Kingconstance. 
She  was  not  in  a  very  good  humor.  Mr.  Jellybond  Tin- 

388 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

ney's  attentions  were  ceasing  to  satisfy  her — not  that  he 
had  fallen  off  in  them,  but  there  was  a  difference  all  the 
same,  which  she  felt  distinctly,  and  found  all  the  more 
tormenting  because  she  could  not  define  it. 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  had  risen  to  open  the  piano  for 
Miss  Land,  and  as  she  sang  by  heart  he  relapsed  into  a 
chair  beside  her,  and  sat  with  his  feet  touching  the  train 
of  her  dress,  gazing  at  her  unguardedly. 

Barbara  began  to  play. 

"  Miss  Land,"  Guy  interrupted,  "  is  Mr.  Jellybond 
Tinney  worthy  to  touch  the  hem  of  your  garment  ?" 

"  Oh — thank  you,"  said  Barbara,  sweeping  up  her 
train. 

"  /  beg  your  pardon !"  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  exclaimed. 

Barbara  began  again  ;  but  after  the  first  few  bars  her 
voice  broke,  and  she  was  obliged  to  give  it  up. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  she  said,  turning  to  Mrs.  Kingcon- 
stance. 

*  It  can't  be  helped,  I  suppose,"  Mrs.  Kingconstance 
observed,  dryly. 

"  Well,  thank  you  any  way,  Miss  Land,"  said  Guy, 
getting  up  to  give  her  a  chair.  "  It  was  kind  of  you  to  try. 
And,  for  me  own  part,  I'm  just  as  pleased  as  if  you  had 
sung." 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  laughed  ironically. 

"Are  you  fond  of  music,  Mr.  Spice  ?"  Miss  Land  has- 
tened to  interpose. 

"  'Deed,  and  I  am,  Miss  Land,"  he  said.  "  Me  and  Mic 
Magowan  went  everywhere  to  hear  it  in  Daublin.  Once 
we  got  to  a  big  oratorio.  That's  a  moighty  queer  thing 
now,  an  oratorio  ;  d'ye  like  them  at  all  ?" 

"  Immensely.     Which  did  you  hear  ?" 

"  I  don't  rightly  know,"  said  Guy.  "  In  front  of  us 
were  benches  sloping  up  one  above  the  other  to  the  ceil- 
ing ;  and  first  the  music  played  a  bit,  and  then  a  chap 
jumped  up  and  shouted  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  '  The 

389 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

horse  ! '  Then  another  fellow  right  above  him  jumped  up 
too,  as  if  he  were  determined  to  have  his  say,  and  he 
shouted,  '  The  horse  !'  louder  than  the  first.  Then  a 
fellow  quite  at  the  opposite  end  rose  when  nobody  was 
looking  at  him,  and  he  bellowed,  '  The  horse  !'  harder 
than  either  of  them.  Then  somebody  unexpectedly 
called  out,  'And  his  rider  !'  That  seemed  to  take  all  but 
the  fiddles  by  surprise  ;  but  they  rather  liked  it,  ap- 
parently, for  they  started  in  playing  excitedly,  and  the 
man  in  front  with  the  stick  seemed  to  go  mad  on  the  sub- 
ject. Then  a  lot  more  thought  they'd  try  it  too,  so  they 
yelled,  '  The  horse  !'  and  '  His  rider  !'  till  they  tired  ; 
and  when  they'd  stopped  their  row  the  first  fellow  began 
again  ;  but  he'd  picked  up  a  wrinkle  from  the  rest,  and 
said  the  whole  of  it  that  time.  Oh,  it  was  moighty  foine 
eritoirely,"  Guy  concluded  ;  "  and  me  and  Mic  Magowan 
enjoyed  betting  which  would  jump  up  next,  and  whether 
they'd  say, '  The  horse,'  or  '  His  rider/  or  both,  till  they 
tired  of  it.  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney,  it  seems  to  me  that 
you  are  not  looking  well." 

"1 — feel  the  room  —  too  hot,"  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney 
gasped. 

He  rose  as  he  spoke,  and  retired  in  evident  agitation. 

Guy  Spice  walked  home  slowly  and  thoughtfully; 
and  thoughtful  he  remained  until  he  had  lighted  the 
lamp  in  the  drawing-room  for  his  aunt  that  evening. 
Lighting  the  lamp  was  one  of  the  numerous  unobtrusive 
little  attentions  he  paid  her  regularly.  It  was  the  signal 
for  her  to  take  out  a  patriarchal  piece  of  embroidery 
which  had  been  her  company  work  for  years.  Guy  usu- 
ally spent  the  evenings  lying  on  the  huge  old-fashioned 
sofa,  watching  her  work  and  chatting  with  her  or  reading 
to  her.  Mrs.  Sophia  Pepper  did  not  appear  in  the  draw- 
ing-room on  week-days  ;  her  excuse  was  that  she  had 
something  else  to  do ;  but  she  kept  Sunday  by  sit- 

390 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

ting  there  in  her  best  gown,  stiffly,  for  an  hour  after 
supper. 

"  Aunt  Ally,"  Guy  said,  suddenly,  that  night  when 
they  were  settled — "  Aunt  Ally,  I  wish  you  would  tell 
me  all  you  know  about  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney." 

"  All  I  know  about  him !"  Miss  Spice  gasped. 

"  Yes.     Who  is  he  at  all  ?    Where  does  he  come  from  ?" 

"  Oh,  that  I  cannot  say,"  she  answered,  mysteriously. 

"  Well,  but  from  the  moment  he  arrived  ;  do  you  hap- 
pen to  remember  ?" 

"  Shall  I  ever  forget  ?"  she  answered,  tragically.  "  I 
was  his  first  friend  here  !  Oh,  Guy  !  It  had  been  rain- 
ing all  day  ;  but  towards  evening  the  weather  cleared  ; 
and  1  went  out — to  buy  a  little  something  for  aunt.  And 
first  I  met  the  children — they  were  children  then — 
Master  Montacute,  Miss  Julia,  and  Miss  Lorraine.  We 
stopped  and  spoke.  Then  I  went  on  alone  towards  the 
village ;  and  I  saw  approaching  me  a  stranger.  Only 
once  before  had  I  seen  such  a  man — when  1  was  in  Lon- 
don— a  royal  duke.  I  courtesied.  He  doffed  his  hat  and 
bowed  profoundly." 

"  Which  was  it  you  courtesied  to,  Aunt  Ally,  dear  ?" 

"  I  courtesied  to  them  both,"  she  answered,  with  proud 
humility. 

"  Then  they  were  both  together  ?" 

"  Oh  no  !  no  !  The  occasions  were  different,  but  my 
sensations  were  the  same." 

"And  what  happened  next  ?" 

"  We  passed — passed  on.  But  there  was — there  was 
a  change.  I  knew — I  knew — that  nothing  would  ever 
be  the  same  again.  I  looked  back  once.  At  that  mo- 
ment he  looked  back — he  hesitated — he  stopped — he  re- 
turned. I  was  paralyzed.  He  asked  his  way  to  the  vil- 
lage. I  showed  him.  We  walked  together.  We  con- 
versed. Oh,  Guy  1  what  a  time  !  The  violets  were  just 
coming  out.  He  admired  my  Chippendale  furniture — " 


BABS      THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  In  the  village  ?" 

"  Oh  no — next  day,  when  he  came  to  see  me.  '  Your 
graceful  spindle-shanks/  he  said — " 

"  Confound  him  !" 

"  Why,  oh  why,  Guy  ?  He  was  all  kindness — all 
sympathy.  He  always  has  been.  I  told  him  about  the 
Swiss  Cottage.  I  gave  him  his  first  introduction — to 
Mr.  Worringham.  After  that  all  was  easy  for  him. 
Ah !  those  early  days  !  However,  it  was  not  to  be !" 

"  I  suppose  he  was  quite  settled  in  his  house  and  re- 
ceived by  the  neighborhood  before  he  gave  you  to  under- 
stand that  it  was  not  to  be  ?"  said  Guy  Spice. 

"  Oh,  quite,"  she  replied. 

Guy  reflected  for  a  little  with  a  frown  on  his  face. 

"  Did  he  ever  kiss  you,  Aunt  Ally,  dear  ?"  he  said, 
suddenly. 

"  Oh,  Guy  !"  the  little  woman  exclaimed,  blushing  and 
simpering  ;  "  how  can  you  ask  such  a  question  ?" 

"  I  asked  for  information,"  he  answered,  dryly.  "  But 
we  need  not  pursue  the  subject.  I  can  see  as  far  into  a 
mile-stone  as  most  people ;  and  it's  evident  that  there's 
an  account  for  me  to  settle  with  some  one  before  I  leave 
this  neighborhood — confound  him  !" 

"  Oh,  Guy  1"  simpered  Miss  Spice. 

392 


CHAPTER      XLII 

THE  world  had  come  to  a  standstill  for  Mr.  Jelly- 
bond  Tinney.  All  life  had  resolved  itself  into 
an  ache  of  expectation,  of  hope,  of  fear.  "  I 
must  end  it ;  I  must  know  my  fate,"  he  said  to 
himself  day  after  day  when  hope  was  high  ;  but  fear 
forbade.  If  Barbara  refused  him — !  But  no !  he  would 
riot  allow  such  a  thought  to  take  shape  in  his  mind.  "  If 
you  prophesy  evil  you  bring  it  to  pass,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, and  resolutely  refused  to  prophesy. 

With  regard  to  Mrs.  Kingconstance,  he  had  no  qualms 
of  conscience.  She  would  be  disappointed,  of  course; 
but  then  she  must  remember  all  she  owed  him,  all  the 
happy  hours,  the  ingenuous  distractions,  a  whole  sum- 
mer of  romance — such  a  time,  indeed,  as  she  had  never 
had  before  and  never  would  again.  A  little  sadness 
thrown  into  the  recollection  would  only  enhance  it; 
the  disappointment  of  his  marriage  with  another  would 
lend  that  touch  of  sadness  ;  therefore,  although  she 
might  not  see  it  at  first,  she  would  realize  eventually 
that  he  had  had  her  best  interests  at  heart  as  well  as  his 
own,  and  they  would  remain  fast  friends  forever. 

After  General  St.  Lambert's  departure  he  began  to  see 
less  of  Barbara.  The  early  summer  had  come  on  apace, 
and  she  and  Babs  spent  much  of  their  time  out-of-doof  s, 
so  that  they  were  not  often  in  when  he  went  to  Dane 
Court,  nor  did  he  know  where  to  find  them,  for  they  sel- 
dom mentioned  their  plans  before  they  set  out  on  an  ex- 
pedition. This  it  was  that  brought  Mr.  Jellybond  Tin- 

393 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

ney  to  the  point.  He  had  not  seen  Barbara  for  more 
than  a  week  except  on  Sunday  in  church ;  and  the  de- 
privation was  so  great  he  determined  to  put  himself 
out  of  his  misery,  or,  as  he  said  to  himself  facetiously,  to 
know  the  best  at  once. 

Accordingly,  he  arranged  a  bouquet  of  bridal  blooms, 
orange-blossoms,  myrtle,  stephanotis,  and  syringa,  all 
white  flowers,  but  tied  with  streamers  of  symbolic  crim- 
son in  token  of  the  fiery  flame  that  consumed  him.  This 
arrangement  appealed  to  him  as  highly  poetical  until 
he  arrived  at  Dane  Court.  There,  the  first  person  he 
encountered  was  Julia. 

"  What  a  cauliflower  \"  she  exclaimed.  *  Whose  heart 
are  you  going  to  assault  now,  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  ? 
I  suppose  the  scarlet  is  a  danger  signal  :  Ladies,  be- 
ware !" 

*  Well,  really,  Miss  Julia,"  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney 
stammered.  "  Will  you  do  me  the  favor  to  accept — " 

"  Now  you  know  you  didn't  intend  the  cauliflower  for 
me,"  Julia  interrupted.  "  Try  mamma." 

She  ran  off  as  she  spoke,  leaving  Mr.  Jellybond  con- 
templating the  floral  emblem  ruefully.  Ridicule  robs 
such  efforts  of  their  poetry.  He  cast  the  flowers  aside. 

"  It's  a  bad  omen,"  flashed  through  his  mind. 

He  stifled  the  thought,  but  the  sensation  of  uneasi- 
ness to  which  it  had  given  rise  remained  with  him. 

In  the  hall  he  found  Clodd,  and  asked  boldly  for  Miss 
Land.  Now  fortune  seemed  to  favor  him.  Miss  Land 
had  just  gone  out  alone  with  a  book  in  her  hand ;  she 
would  probably  be  somewhere  about  the  grounds.  Mr. 
Jellybond  Tinney  sallied  forth.  Where,  he  asked  him- 
self, where  would  Miss  Land  be  likely  to  settle  down  to 
read  that  lovely  day  ?  The  scent  of  new-mown  hay, 
the  sound  of  running  water — she  loved  them  both.  And 
at  that  moment  she  could  have  them  both  at  once  with- 
out leaving  the  grounds.  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  knew 

394 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

where.  He  took  the  narrow  path  which  led  to  Wylde- 
holme,  and  found  Barbara  seated  in  the  shade  of  a  hay- 
rick, just  as  he  had  anticipated.  The  brook,  which  di- 
vided the  two  properties,  made  music  for  her,  and  the 
perfume  she  loved  hung  heavy  in  the  air. 

She  was  deep  in  her  book  when  Mr.  Jellybond  Tin- 
ney  approached  ;  but  his  shadow,  falling  on  the  page, 
disturbed  her.  She  looked  up. 

"  Good-day,"  she  said.  "  You  are  going  to  Wylde- 
holme,  I  suppose." 

She  made  no  effort  to  rise,  nor  did  she  hold  out  her 
hand. 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney,  although  he  felt 
himself  dismissed.  "  I  came  to  look  for  you." 

"  What  a  bother  1"  said  Barbara.    "  Am  I  wanted  ?" 

"  Yes,  Miss  Land — Barbara,"  Mr.  Jellybond  answer- 
ed, solemnly.  "  I  want  you." 

Barbara  hastily  rose  to  her  feet. 

"  Really,  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney/'  she  said,  *  your 
manner  is  most  alarming  !" 

"  I  see  you  do  not  think  it  so,"  he  replied,  "or  you  would 
not  speak  so  lightly.  I  am  sorry  if  I  startled  you,  but — " 

"  Shall  we  walk  back  to  the  house  together  ?"  Barbara 
hastily  interrupted. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you  seriously — " 

"  We  can  talk  on  the  way — " 

"  Not  so  well.  Miss  Land,  pray  hear  me.  You  must 
know  what  I  have  to  say.  You  must  have  seen  all  this 
time  my  devotion,  my  passion — Barbara,  from  the  mo- 
ment I  saw  you — " 

"  Do  let  me  interrupt  you, "  said  Barbara.  "  I  am  afraid 
you  are  going  to  commit  yourself,  and  you  mustn't. 
You  and  I  are  good  friends,  and  we  will  remain  good 
friends;  but  more  than  friends  we  cannot  be." 

*  Don't  say  that,"  he  implored.  "  You  put  the  light 
out  of  the  world  and  make  life  a  blank.  You  must  care 

395 


BABS      THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

for  me,  you  must  indeed.  Or  even  if  you  don't  care  now, 
don't  refuse  me.  I'm  a  rich  man — much  richer  than  any 
one  here  suspects.  I  can  make  your  life  worth  having, 
I  promise  you.  It  isn't  necessary  to  pretend  to  love  me. 
You  like  me  already  as  a  friend ;  that  will  do ;  only  con- 
sent—" 

"  Mr.  Jelly  bond  Tinney,"  she  said,  positively,  "  you 
must  take  no  for  an  answer." 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  seized  her  hands.  She  strug- 
gled to  withdraw  them,  but  he  held  them  fast.  Exas- 
perated, she  uttered  an  exclamation. 

From  behind  the  hayrick  Guy  Spice  appeared. 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  dropped  Barbara's  hands.  Guy 
had  been  aroused  by  their  voices  from  a  delightful  doze. 
He  could  not  hear  what  was  said,  but  it  sounded  like  an 
altercation,  and  he  recognized  the  speakers.  When  Bar- 
bara uttered  that  exclamation,  he  thought  it  was  time 
to  interfere. 

"At  your  old  tricks,  eh,  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney,"  he 
said.  "At  your  age  ye  ought  to  know  better ;  but  since 
ye  don't  seem  to,  it's  time  ye  were  taught." 

He  knocked  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  down. 

Barbara  took  to  her  heels  incontinently. 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  was  not  wanting  in  physical 
courage.  He  gathered  himself  up  and  flew  at  his  ad- 
versary. But  rage  put  him  at  a  disadvantage,  and 
again  Guy  knocked  him  down. 

Again  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  gathered  himself  up. 
But  the  luxurious  life  he  had  led  of  late  years  had  told 
upon  him ;  his  once  good  muscles  had  grown  flabby  ; 
there  was  no  spring  left  in  him  to  resist  the  shock  of  a 
fall,  and  he  was  no  match  for  such  an  opponent. 

Guy  left  him  lying  on  the  hay,  a  helpless  mass  of 
bruises. 

"  Ye  understand,  I  trust,  whose  wrongs  I've  re- 
venged," he  said,  looking  down  at  him. 


"'YE    UNDERSTAND,    I    TRUST,    WHOSE    WRONGS    I'VE    REVENGED'" 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  understood. 

He  lay  there  until  the  sunset,  then  gathered  himself 
up  and  staggered  home  by  the  by-ways,  afraid  to  be 
seen.  Fortunately  he  gained  his  own  dressing-room 
unobserved.  He  locked  himself  in,  and  turned  on  the 
hot  water  for  the  bath.  His  face  was  grimly  set.  He 
was  thinking  deeply,  and,  as  he  thought,  he  went  me- 
chanically through  the  habitual  routine  of  bathing  and 
dressing.  Dinner  followed  in  due  course,  and  it  was 
not  until  he  retired  to  his  sitting-room  that  he  allowed 
the  distress  of  body  from  which  he  was  suffering  to 
wring  a  complaint  from  him. 

"  I've  had  a  nasty  accident,  Mrs.  Dulditch,"  he  said 
to  his  housekeeper. 

"  So  I  see,  sir,"  she  said.     "  Knocked  yourself." 

"  Yes.     Ran  against  a  tree  in  the  twilight." 

*  I'll  get  you  some  raw  beef,"  Mrs.  Dulditch  said,  im- 
perturbably.  She  had  had  experience  of  that  sort  of 
accident  before. 

The  next  day,  late  in  the  afternoon,  Mr.  Jellybond 
Tinney  appeared  at  Dane  Court.  He  told  the  story  of 
the  tree  in  the  twilight  once  more  to  account  for  the  state 
of  his  face,  and  it  answered  admirably. 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  was  greatly  concerned.  She 
asked  him  up  to  her  sitting-room,  where,  she  said,  the 
light  was  subdued  and  would  be  better  for  his  poor  eyes. 
She  was  really  tender  to  him,  and  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney 
felt  himself  soothed  and  comforted  by  her  kind  atten- 
tions. 

When  they  were  alone  together  he  squeezed  her  hand 
quite  in  the  old  accustomed  way. 

"  There  is  an  atmosphere  in  this  room/'  he  said.  "  I 
never  can  resist  it.  But  just  for  a  moment  I  must  dis- 
turb it  by  something  I — er — feel  it  my  duty  to  say." 

"  Oh,  dear  !  nothing  unpleasant,  1  hope,"  said  Mrs. 
Kingconstance. 

397 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Not  necessarily,  but  something  serious,  I  confess — 
that  is,  if  you  take  me  aright,"  he  replied.  "  But  don't 
ask  me  for  any  explanation.  In  fact,  I  cannot  give  you 
any.  There  are  some  things  a  gentleman  must  not  ex- 
plain. All  I  can  do  is  to  ask  a  favor  of  you.  I  ask  it 
bluntly.  I  want  you  to  get  rid  of  Miss  Barbara  Land. 
Please  observe  that  I  do  not  say  a  word  against  her.  I 
only  beg  that  you  will  not  keep  her  any  longer  in  your 
house." 

"  Dear  me  !"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  exclaimed.  "  I  un- 
derstand that  you  have  discovered  something  ;  but, 
being  a  gentleman — " 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say  but  that,"  Mr.  Jellybond  Tin- 
ney  hastily  interrupted.  "  I  hope  you  will  not  keep  her 
here.  Don't  hurt  her  feelings.  Any  polite  excuse  will 
do.  She  knows  that  her  ideas  and  yours  on  the  subject 
of  education  differ  widely.  Tell  her  gently  that  that  is 
the  reason ;  that  you  feel  that  you  and  Babs  must  drift 
apart  if  Babs  is  brought  up  in  her  school ;  that  you  did 
not  realize  it  at  first ;  but  that,  now  that  you  do,  you 
feel  sure  she  will  understand  and  not  be  wounded." 

"  Will  you  just  jot  that  down,"  said  Mrs.  Kingcon- 
stance, "  and  I'll  learn  it  off  by  heart.  Oh,  dear  !  how 
easy  everything  is  when  I  have  you  here  to  advise  I" 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  did  his  best  to  look  love  at  the 
lady  out  of  his  blackened  eyes  ;  but  the  love  was  not  in 
him,  and  he  could  not  bring  himsef  to  say  the  word  which 
would  have  made  the  lady  his  forever.  He  pleaded  his 
shocking  appearance  as  an  excuse  for  not  seeing  the 
rest  of  the  family,  and  hurried  home. 

"  That's  the  lowest  thing  I've  ever  done,"  he  said  to 
himself  as  he  went.  "  That's  the  lowest  thing  I've 
ever  done,"  he  repeated.  "  But  what  else  could  1  do  ? 
Self-preservation,  you're  responsible  for  manv  a  scurvy 
trick  I" 

Over  his  wine  that  night  he  made  the  same  assertion, 

398 


BARS      THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

and  asked  the  same  question  of  himself  repeatedly; 
and  each  time  that  he  did  so  he  emptied  his  glass  and 
refilled  it,  contrary  to  his  habit. 

Next  day  he  complained  of  his  head  to  Mrs.  Dulditch, 
and  blamed  that  nasty  accident.  Mrs.  Dulditch  made 
no  remark — she  had  noticed  the  empty  bottles. 

As  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  stayed  at  home  until  he  had 
recovered  his  good  looks,  the  news  of  his  accident  was 
not  much  bruited  about.  If  the  girls  at  Dane  Court 
heard  of  it  they  did  not  mention  it,  because  they  did 
not  care  a  bit  whether  he  were  bruised  or  not ;  and  Mrs. 
Kingconstance  was  silent  on  the  subject  because  of  a 
certain  delicacy  she  felt  about  bringing  his  name  into 
any  conversation.  Barbara  Land  and  Guy  Spice  also 
held  their  peace  from  personal  motives ;  so  that  little 
Miss  Spice  was  unaware  of  the  dramatic  episode  by 
which  her  wrongs  had  been  avenged. 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  thought  much  of  Miss  Spice 
during  his  incarceration.  By  day,  wandering  about  his 
own  grounds,  feeling  all  out  of  sorts,  he  mourned  the  loss 
of  Barbara.  At  night,  with  the  wine-bottle  beside  him, 
he  thought  of  Ally.  His  mind  recurred  incessantly  to 
his  earliest  experiences  in  Danehurst — to  the  days  when, 
as  it  seemed  to  him  now,  he  had  been  young  and  jocund 
and  Ally  had  befriended  him.  He  was  full  of  hope  in 
those  days.  All  his  experiences  had  been  new  and 
pleasing.  Alas  !  how  imperfectly  he  had  realized  his 
happiness  !  Poor  little  Ally  ! — blue  eyes  and  flaxen 
hair.  Thin,  certainly ;  but  genuine  —  genuine  Chip- 
pendale. 

His  retrospective  regrets  exhaled  in  a  deep  sigh.  He 
took  another  glass  of  wine,  and  thought  of  Barbara. 
To  do  him  justice,  the  lowest  thing  he  had  ever  done 
troubled  him  quite  as  much  as  the  loss  of  the  lady.  He 
felt  no  resentment  towards  Guy  Spice.  The  fight,  he 
considered,  had  been  a  fair  fight.  What  did  make  him 

399 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

writhe  was  the  thought  that  Barbara  had  witnessed 
his  discomfiture.  But  for  that,  they  might  have  met 
again.  As  it  was,  what  else  could  he  do  ? 

He  took  another  glass  of  wine. 

Signs  of  the  disorder  of  his  mind  were  already  ap- 
parent about  him. 

That  apartment  of  his,  so  original  in  arrangement 
and  design,  so  admirably  kept,  as  a  rule,  had  suffered 
some  severe  shocks  of  late.  One  night,  when  whiskey 
had  been  his  beverage,  he  had  boxed  the  lyre,  and  left  it 
prostrate  on  the  floor — the  poor  instrument  which  he 
had  so  loved  for  its  form.  But  it  was  precisely  its  form 
and  title  which  was  the  poor  instrument's  present  of- 
ence. 

"  You,  grinning  at  me  there,"  he  had  said,  suddenly 
catching  sight  of  it — "  boasting  of  your  form.  I  should 
like  to  know  the  difference  between  your  form  and  mine, 
you — you  lyre.  Bad  formish  when  you're  out  of  con- 
dition ;  good  form — good  formish  a  gentleman.  Garr  ! 
I  can't  abide  a  lyre." 

The  harp  had  also  suffered.  He  had  recommended 
it  to  go  to  Tara's  Halls,  and  given  it  a  kick  one  night, 
a  casual  sort  of  kick,  as  he  staggered  past  it,  which  had 
sent  it  spinning  down  the  long  room,  doing  damage  as 
it  went,  as  though  bent  on  self-destruction  and  revenge. 

But  these  ebullitions  were  in  the  early  days  of  his 
humiliation  and  bereavement.  Afterwards  he  spared 
the  furniture  and  attacked  himself,  his  character  and 
conduct. 

The  witch  in  red  ribbons  came  to  see  him  one  night. 
She  had  come  to  charge  him  with  neglect ;  but  when 
she  discovered  his  condition  her  own  sense  of  wrong 
was  obliterated  by  consternation. 

"  Whatever  has  come  to  you,  Tinney,"  she  cried, 
wringing  her  hands.  "  Never  in  your  life  have  you 
been  such  a  fool  as  this." 

400 


BABS      THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  It's  on'y  a  phashe,  my  dear  madam/'  he  hiccoughed, 
with  an  attempt  at  his  grand  manner  ;  "  a  mosht  de- 
plorable phashe,  I  'low,  but  'tmush  pash." 

The  old  woman  rose  up  sternly. 

"  You  come  to  me,  and  I'll  cure  you,"  she  said,  in  the 
tone  and  with  the  emphasis  of  one  who  shakes  a  stick 
and  threatens  chastisement.  She  left  him  abruptly — 
left  him  cogitating. 

That  night  he  had  been  thinking  of  Ally  Spice  again. 
The  witch  in  red  ribbons  had  interrupted  his  medita- 
tions ;  but  when  she  had  gone  he  resumed  them.  The 
window  was  wide  open  and  the  moonlight  streamed  into 
the  veranda.  The  nightingales  were  in  full  song.  He 
was  haunted  by  a  vague  reminiscence.  He  took  some 
more  wine.  Its  first  effect  was  to  strengthen  his  recol- 
lection. 

Serenade  !  That  was  the  word  he  wanted.  Then 
he  groped  about  in  his  mind  among  cats  and  hot  water 
till  he  found  Miss  Spice.  Poor  little  Ally  !  But  the 
water  was  warm  ;  on  that  score,  at  all  events,  he  had 
nothing  with  which  to  reproach  himself.  Besides,  she 
should  not  have  serenaded  him.  That  was  putting  the 
cart  before  the  horse — "  blasted  New  Woman  sort  of 
business — disturbs  balance — balance  must  be  put  right." 

Here  his  head  dropped  on  his  chest,  and  a  somnolent 
interval  ensued. 

When  it  passed  he  gathered  himself  up  slowly,  and 
solemnly  addressed  the  surrounding  objects. 

"  Balance  musht  be  set  ri',"  he  said.  "  When  found 
make  a  note  of  and  don't  you  forget  it.  Let's  toasht 
sentiment." 

He  poured  himself  out  a  bumper,  raised  it  to  his  lips  un- 
steadily and  drained  it,  then  staggered  from  the  room. 

2C  401 


CHAPTER     XLIII 

CTLE  Miss  Spice  could  not  sleep. 
She  had  thrown  wide  her  casement,  for  the  night 
was  close,  and  music  and  moonlight  streamed 
in  upon  her — the  notes  of  the  nightingale  and 
the  rays  which  ever  illumine  the  pages  of  pure  romance. 

The  best  part  of  Miss  Spice's  life  had  been  passed  in 
an  atmosphere  of  pure  romance.  There  it  was  that  she 
had  sought  solace  and  found  it  in  the  midst  of  dire  priva- 
tions. When  the  people  who  patronized  her  wounded 
her  with  the  cold  shoulder  of  indifference,  she  had  been 
wont  to  escape  into  a  congenial  atmosphere  of  knights 
and  dames,  whose  manners  were  as  considerate  as  they 
were  stately,  while  their  noble  natures  bore  a  suspicious 
resemblance  to  her  own  in  that  they  were  all  gentle  and 
good  and  kind  and  true. 

But  since  her  nephew  came  into  her  life  it  had  been 
well  with  Miss  Spice.  He  had  taught  her  not  to  care 
whether  the  county  smiled  or  frowned.  In  his  shrewd 
way  he  had  touched  upon  the  weaknesses  of  the  women 
whose  intermittent  notice  had  hitherto  been  her  joy  and 
sorrow,  and  had  exposed  the  meanness  of  their  tactics 
with  the  gentle  ridicule  which  divests  a  cherished  idol  of 
its  false  divinity  without  wounding  the  feelings  of  the 
devotee.  Miss  Spice,  stimulated  with  good  food  and 
gentle  satire,  had  already,  on  one  occasion,  smilingly 
declined  to  act  on  a  meddling  piece  of  gratuitous  good 
advice  from  Lad3^  May.  Yet  Miss  Spice  was  still 
her  own  dear,  little,  simple-minded  self,  unspoiled,  only 

402 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

strengthened.  She  still  walked  with  her  gallant  knights 
in  realms  of  faery,  still  gave  of  her  best  to  all  her  world, 
and  still  loved  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney,  the  dear,  dear 
man. 

She  was  thinking  of  him  that  night  as  she  lay  awake 
listening  to  the  nightingales.  She  had  nothing  much 
to  recollect  that  was  entirely  satisfactory  ;  but  suppos- 
ing— 

And  so,  supposing,  she  wandered  away  into  most 
luxurious  surroundings,  and  there  reclined  in  an  easy- 
chair,  covered  with  pale-pink  brocade.  She  had  a  fan  in 
her  hand,  for  the  night  was  hot ;  her  ringlets  streamed 
over  a  pale-blue  satin  cushion — pale  pink  and  pale  blue 
consort  together,  she  was  careful  to  remind  herself — and 
there  must  be  some  pale  green  as  well  in  the  carpet,  say, 
and  on  the  chairs,  and  white  upon  the  walls,  as  in  the 
Pompadour  room  at  Dane  Court.  In  the  elegant  cos- 
tume she  wore,  all  these  delicate  shades  were  exquisitely 
combined,  and  the  lace  upon  it  was  such  as  an  empress 
might  admire.  Through  the  open  window  she  beheld 
the  stately  trees,  standing  out  dim,  shadowy,  and  mys- 
terious. From  out  the  balmy  depths  of  their  summer 
foliage  the  nightingales  challenged  each  other,  their 
heavenly  songs  swelling  in  most  melodious  rivalry. 
Here  she  awoke  to  consider  that  last  sweet  phrase,  not 
quite  sure  that  it  was  all  her  own.  She  was  off  again, 
however,  before  she  had  settled  the  question.  And  now 
the  night  held  one  enchantment  more.  So  far  it  had 
been  a  nun's  night,  with  something  sadly  wanting  to  it. 
But  presently  there  was  seen,  adown  the  farthest  forest 
glade,  a  magnificent  horseman  slowly  approaching. 
He  dismounted.  He  knotted  his  reins  to  a  branch. 
He  passed  out  from  under  the  shade  of  the  trees  into  the 
moonlight,  deliberately,  with  a  confident  martial  air. 
Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  in  helmet,  tunic,  top-boots,  and 
tights,  would  have  strongly  resembled  him.  Beneath 

4°3 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

her  lattice  he  paused,  and  gazed  upward  enraptured. 
Soft,  he  singvS  !  sings  in  an  undertone,  vibrating  with 
emotion — and  quite  in  the  professional  manner !  The 
lady  gathered  that  the  whirligig  of  time  had  turned — 
had  turned ;  that  she  had  been  amply  avenged — amply 
avenged ;  that  her  serenader  was  —  er  —  the  rolling 
stone,  the  rolling  stone  that  gathers — er — that  gathers 
remorse.  And  the  balance  must  be  restored. 

Miss  Spice  did  not,  at  first,  believe  her  ears.  By  de- 
grees, however,  it  dawned  upon  her  that  the  vibrant  voice 
was  the  voice  of  an  actual  singer  who  knew  how  to  sing. 
Slowly  she  gathered  herself  up  in  bed,  and,  as  she  did 
so,  it  seemed  to  her  that  her  hair  stood  on  end  with  emo- 
tion. 

She  tore  from  its  peg  the  one  suitable  garment  she  had, 
an  elegant  tea-gown,  a  surprise  present  from  Babs. 
She  slipped  it  on  in  trembling  haste,  and  stepped  light- 
ly to  the  casement.  She  leaned  forth.  Her  tresses 
streamed  out  upon  the  night. 

He  stood  below,  propped  up  against  the  porch.  He 
wore  a  frock  coat  and  silk  hat — so  appropriate  !  his  cos- 
tume when  first  they  met !  His  legs  were  encased  in 
white  silk  "  underwear,"  for  he  had  forgotten  his  trousers 
when  he  changed  out  of  evening  dress — a  detail  un- 
observed by  Miss  Spice. 

"  At  last  1"  she  just  breathed,  clasping  her  hands. 

Unfortunately,  at  that  moment  the  front  door  opened, 
and  her  nephew  stepped  forth.  He  looked  the  serenader 
up  and  down. 

"  Well,  I'm  jiggered  !"  was  the  coarse  expression  that 
escaped  him. 

Miss  Spice  hastily  withdrew  from  the  casement,  and 
began  to  pace  the  room  in  great  agitation.  What 
should  she  do  ?  Should  she  rush  to  the  rescue  ?  It  was 
all  quite  right  in  romance,  of  course,  that  her  serenader 
should  be  caught  in  the  act ;  but — oh,  dear  I  in  reality  it 

404 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

was  not  nice.  What  was  that  ?  Voices  in  angry  alter- 
cation ?  No.  It  was  her  nephew  laughing — laughing  ! 
Oh  !  !  !  how  could  he  ? 

Courage  came  of  her  indignation ;  she  ran  down-stairs. 
The  hall  door  stood  wide  open.  Her  nephew  leaned 
against  the  doorpost,  apparently  in  convulsions.  She 
looked  beyond,  and  saw,  by  the  bright  moonlight,  framed 
in  the  aperture,  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  on  the  lawn, 
gyrating  in  a  frantic  dance. 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Ally,  dear,"  Guy  Spice  sobbed,  with  laugh- 
ter, "  will  ye,  to  yer  dying  day,  ever  see  the  like  o'  that 
again  !  Old  Tinney 's  as  drunk  as  a  fiddler." 

"  Guy  1  Guy !  Guy !"  cried  little  Miss  Spice,  in  an 
agonized  voice  ;  "  it's  not  that  I  He  has  been  smitten 
with  madness.  I  know — I  know  he  has.  Do,  do,  if  you 
love  me,  succor  him  in  his  affliction." 

"  You  run  off  to  bed,  Aunt  Ally,  dear,"  her  nephew 
answered,  wiping  his  eyes.  "  I'll  take  him  home  all 
right,  and  see  to  him.  Don't  fret.  He'll  get  over  it,  I 
promise  you." 

When  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  awoke  to  consciousness 
next  day  the  sun  was  setting.  He  was  undressed  and 
in  his  own  bed  ;  but  how  he  got  there  he  was  not  in  a 
state  to  determine,  mental  activity  being  suspended  for 
the  moment  by  physical  distress.  He  managed  to 
murmur  "  damn  "  to  himself  several  times  ;  then  he 
rang  for  a  drink. 

The  first  thing  he  thought  of  when  he  began  to  revive 
was  the  witch  in  red  ribbons,  and  her  last  remark  : 
"  You  come  to  me,  and  I'll  cure  you." 

He  had  entered  upon  this  last  deplorable  phase  with- 
out intention — and  he  excused  himself  on  that  score ; 
but  if  he  were  not  to  be  swamped  by  it,  he  would  have  to 
intend  to  get  himself  out  of  it.  That  was  clear  to  him 
as  he  lay  there,  afraid  to  move  for  the  pain  in  his  head, 

405 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

and  suffering  also  much  mental  distress  for  the  pass  to 
which  he  had  brought  himself. 

Late  that  night  he  arrived  at  Thorne  Lodge.  The 
witch  in  red  ribbons  was  seated  in  her  dark  oak  parlor, 
dealing  her  cards.  She  drew  up  her  slender  figure,  and 
fixed  her  keen  dark  eyes  upon  him  contemptuously 
when  he  entered,  then  silently  finished  the  deal. 

"  Well,  you're  a  nice  one  I"  she  said,  at  last.  *  Are  you 
sober  by  any  chance  ?" 

"  Quite,"  he  answered,  meekly  ;  "  but  my  head's  in  an 
awful  state,  and  I'm  all  tremulous." 

"  Come  this  way,"  she  said,  "  and  I'll  give  you  a  tonic." 

He  followed  her  into  the  back  kitchen. 

"  Take  off  your  coat  and  collar  and  neck-tie,"  she  said, 
"  and  put  your  head  under  the  tap." 

He  obeyed  her,  and  she  turned  the  water  on.  The 
cold,  strong  stream  made  him  wince. 

"  Persevere,"  she  commanded. 

He  persevered  for  some  minutes. 

"How  is  that?"  she  said*  at  last,  turning  off  the 
water. 

"  Better,"  he  answered. 

She  gave  him  a  rough  towel,  and  led  the  way  back  to 
the  sitting-room. 

"  A  douche  is  most  refreshing,"  he  remarked,  pleasant- 
ly, scrubbing  away  hard  with  the  towel  as  he  spoke. 

The  old  lady  grunted. 

"  Look  here,"  she  said,  "  we're  not  going  to  have  any 
more  of  this  nonsense." 

"  I've  had  a  nasty  knock,"  said  Mr.  Jeliybond  Tinney. 
"  Don't  be  too  hard  on  me." 

"  As  if  you  never  had  a  knock  before !"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Oh,  I've  had  knocks  in  plenty,"  he  rejoined  ;  "  but 
this  one  was  the  worst  of  all.  She  refused  me." 

"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  ?" 

"No.     Miss  Land." 

406 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you've  been  wasting  time  on 
that  baggage  ?"  she  demanded. 

"  It  was  on  the  cards,"  he  answered,  sulkily.  "And  it's 
all  over,  anyway.  I  mean  to  pull  myself  together  now, 
and  go  through  with  the  other  business — if  I  can.  But 
I'm  not  the  man  I  was.  It's  luxury  that  demoralizes. 
I've  gone  to  pieces  since  I  took  to  it.  My  will's  nowhere." 

She  considered  him  attentively. 

"  Six  foot  one,  if  you're  an  inch,"  she  said,  with  wither- 
ing contempt ;  "  and  no  forrorder.  You've  no  spirit, 
Tinney.  If  I'd  been  in  your  place,  I'd  have  led  the 
county  by  now." 

*  You  would,"  he  answered,  dejectedly. 

"  I'm  about  tired  of  you,"  she  pursued.  "  Nature  made 
me  for  cities  and  society,  and  here  have  I  been  wasting 
precious  years  of  my  life  in  this  hole,  dangling  about 
after  you,  and  drove  to  church  reg'lar  twice  on  Sundays, 
for  want  of  something  better  to  do." 

*  What  we  enjoy  here  is  rural  felicity — "  Mr.  Jellybond 
Tinney  began. 

"  Rural  humbug,"  she  interrupted.  "  You'll  not  get 
over  me  with  your  fine  phrases.  Don't  I  know  when  you 
put  on  that  style,  hey  ?" 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney,  still  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  and 
without  collar  and  tie,  sat  in  a  despondent  attitude,  with 
his  eyes  fixed  absently  on  the  cards  spread  out  on  the 
table. 

"  I'm  about  tired  of  you,  Tinne}7,"  the  old  lady  re- 
peated, "  Either  you  pull  yourself  together  now,  once 
for  all,  and  crown  your  career  with  a  marriage  and  a  seat 
in  Parliament,  as  it's  still  on  the  cards  for  you  to  do; 
else  you  give  it  up,  and  I  give  it  up,  and  you  go  to  the 
devil  your  own  way.  Your  luck's  bound  up  in  me.  If 
I  forsake  you,  you're  done." 

He  sat  a  few  more  minutes,  silently  cogitating ;  then 
he  got  up. 

407 


BARS      THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

*  I'll  pull  myself  together,"  he  said. 

The  handsome  old  lady's  dark  eyes  gleamed,  a  smile 
irradiated  her  countenance. 
"  That's  my  man,"  she  said. 

*  Yes,  I'll  pull  myself  together,"  he  repeated,  gathering 
strength  from  the  resolution,  and  becoming  more  him- 
self as  he  proceeded.     "All  is  not  lost,  nor  nearly  lost, 
for  there  are  still  good  eating  and  drinking  ;  there  are 
laughter  and  pleasant  talk  ;  there  are  ease  of  body  and 
mind,  and  as  good  fish  in  the  sea  as  the  one — er — as  the 
one  that  bit  me.     These  things  are  not  ecstasy — they 
are  not  Barbara  Land  ;  but  they  are  something." 

A  week  later  the  county  was  convulsed  by  the  news 
that  Mrs.  Kingconstance  was  engaged  to  Mr.  Jellybond 
Tinney.  Scepticism  at  first  prevailed  among  the 
ladies  ;  they  refused  to  believe.  When  at  last  it  be- 
came certain  that  there  was  no  mistake,  a  wave  of  hyster- 
ical emotion  washed  the  forlorn  feminine  element  of  the 
neighborhood  to  Mr.  Worringham's  feet.  A  cruel  sense 
of  sinfulness  had  come  upon  them — they  craved  to  con- 
fess, they  demanded  spiritual  consolation  imperatively. 

The  good  vicar  was  staggered  by  some  of  the  con- 
fidences he  received.  That  Fanny  Sturdy  and  Florence 
Japp  should  have  given  their  hearts  to  the  same  hand- 
some, eligible,  if  elderly,  bachelor  was  not  astonishing. 
But  when  Mrs.  Normanton,  that  mother  of  many,  at- 
tributed the  bad  state  of  her  soul  to  a  weakness  of  her 
heart ;  and  Lady  May  described  her  spiritual  state  as 
parlous  since  there  had  entered  into  her  life  a  dearer  in- 
terest than  Sir  Philip  ;  and  the  redundant  Widow  Japp 
boomed  in  her  deepest  bass  strong  hints  of  horrid  rival- 
ries between  mother  and  daughter  for  the  hand  of  a 
wretch,  as  a  pastor  of  the  parish  he  was  greatly  disturbed. 

There  was  a  vein  of  genuine  sincerity  in  Mr.  Jelly- 
bond  Tinney.  He  was  wont  to  say,  with  doubtful  orig- 

408 


BABS      THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

inality,  "  Never  lie,  sir.  If  you  lie,  where  are  you  ? 
But  if  you  tell  the  truth,  why — er — there  you  are  !" 

Acting  on  this  principle,  he  had  been  accustomed  to 
discuss  himself  and  his  habits  with  Mr.  Worringham 
pretty  openly,  and  the  vicar  had,  therefore,  no  difficulty 
in  fixing  upon  him  as  the  cause  of  the  ferment  among 
the  ladies.  The  good  vicar  was  enjoying  the  ferment 
himself  in  a  mild  way.  Half  unconsciously  he  found 
in  it  a  welcome  and  a  rousing  change  from  the  steady 
monotony  of  his  regular  labors.  There  were  days  when 
ladies  poured  in  upon  him,  seeking  solace  ;  and  it  was 
all  very  interesting,  very  interesting  indeed.  Some- 
times there  was  a  lady  in  each  sitting-room  waiting  to 
consult  him  separately.  He  set  his  penitents  various 
spiritual  exercises,  and  saw  to  it  that  they  were  con- 
scientiously performed.  Then  he  turned  his  attention 
to  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney.  He  determined  to  take  that 
gentleman  to  task  and  for  that  purpose,  late  one  after- 
noon, he  wended  his  way  to  the  Swiss  Cottage. 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney,  with  his  black  eyes  in  the  yel- 
low stage,  received  him  with  effusion. 

"  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney,"  the  vicar  began,  somewhat 

sternly,  "  there  has  come  to  my  knowledge  the  fact  that 
er » 

He  stopped  short,  because,  as  usual,  from  the  moment 
he  came  within  range  of  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney 's  super- 
abundant vitality  his  own  mood  changed.  When  Mr. 
Jellybond  Tinney  beamed  blandly  upon  him,  he  beamed 
in  return,  and  things  which  a  moment  before  had  seemed 
serious  assumed  a  trivial  aspect.  In  Mr.  Jellybond 
Tinney's  presence  the  vicar's  attitude  of  mind  invaria- 
bly became  the  attitude  of  one  who  pokes  another  in  the 
ribs  and  playfully  condones  his  offences  with  a  wink. 

"  What  is  the-  matter,  my  dear  sir  1"  Mr.  Jellybond 
Tinney  asked.  "  You  have  cause  of  complaint  against 
me.  Out  with  it — come !  But,  first  of  all,  sit  down  here 

409 


BARS      THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

in  the  dining-room  and  drink  my  health.  You  never 
drink  anything  at  this  time  of  day  ?  When  do  you 
drink  ?  A  little  in  the  evening  ?  Then  we'll  make  it 
evening  now." 

He  skipped  to  the  grandfather  clock  and  playfully 
put  it  on. 

"  There,"  he  said,  "  the  time  has  come.  There  is  no 
time,  in  fact,  like  the  present."  He  took  some  bottles 
out  of  the  sideboard.  "  It's  a  poor  heart  that  never — 
er — you  know,"  he  observed.  "  You  shall  have  a  treat, 
I  promise  you,  a  draught  of  nectar  which  shall  renew 
your  youth." 

Mr.  Worringham,  who  was  smiling  in  spite  of  him- 
self, watched  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  concoct  the  bever- 
age. It  took  a  long  time.  Drop  by  drop  Mr.  Jellybond 
Tinney  distilled  it  from  various  bottles,  and,  as  he  mixed, 
the  color  of  the  liquid  changed  from  one  delicate  tint  to 
another,  and  finally  resolved  into  the  clear  opaque  of 
the  opal,  in  which  all  the  various  shades  reappeared 
suspended. 

Mr.  Worringham  gazed  until  he  became  fascinated, 
and  his  eyes  refused  to  obey  him  when  he  would  have 
looked  away. 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  put  the  glass  before  him.  He 
looked  into  it  dreamily,  then  smelt  it,  then  raised  it  to 
his  lips  and  sipped,  and,  having  sipped,  he  smiled  and 
sipped  again. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  that  is  my  secret,"  his  host  replied,  jocosely. 
"  But  I  may  tell  you  that  only  for  one  other  person  in  this 
neighborhood  have  I  ever  mixed  that  draught.  That 
person  is  my  lady.  Her  health  \" 

He  raised  his  own  glass  and  drank. 

"  Her  health !"  said  the  vicar,  and  did  the  same. 
"Your  healths  together!"  he  added,  and  emptied  the 
glass. 

410 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

In  silence,  for  a  moment,  he  contemplated  it,  and  then, 
very  shyly,  he  pushed  it  towards  his  host 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  did  not  take  the  hint. 

"  You  wanted  to  see  me,"  he  said,  breaking  the  pause. 

"  Yes,"  Mr.  Worringham  answered.  "  These  wom- 
en—" 

He  spoke  impatiently. 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney.  "  They've 
been  worrying  about  my  marriage,  I  suppose.  But  what 
difference  can  that  make  to  them  ?" 

"  Well,  I  hope  it  will  make  this  difference,"  said  Mr. 
Worringham,  whose  tongue  was  singularly  loosened 
for  once.  "  In  fact — er — you  must  give  up  making  love 
to  them." 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,"  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  remon- 
strated, "  that  is  my  way  of  making  myself  agreeable. 
When  I  think  of  the  paucity  of  men  in  this  country — of 
all  those  who  are  drafted  off  as  soldiers  and  sailors,  for 
instance — and  of  these  poor,  dear  women  pining  for 
them,  I  could  turn  Mohammedan,  my  dear  sir.  Tut ! 
tut !  I  could  indeed." 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  was  so  overcome  with  sym- 
pathy and  indignation  that  he  had  to  wipe  his  eyes. 

"  What  has  a  woman  to  look  forward  to  in  life  but  her 
love-time,"  he  proceeded — "her  little  love-time?  It's 
soon  over,  I  assure  you — the  best  part  of  it.  Women 
should  all  be  allowed  an  aftermath  of  sentiment.  It 
would  really  be  better  for  most  women  if  they  had  two 
husbands — one  to  minister  to  their  spiritual  necessities 
and  their  aspirations  exclusively,  and  the  other  for 
the  usual  better-and-worse-till-death-us-do-part  business. 
Ladies  we  know  here  in  this  neighborhood  are  quite 
satisfied  with  their  husbands  as  husbands  ;  but  the 
diviner  side  of  their  natures  was  starved  until  I  came. 
What  was  my  role  ?  Why,  benefactor  of  my  species. 
The  homes  that  I  have  made  happy,  the  homes  in  which 

411 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

discontent  once  reigned,  are — er — numerous,  I  assure 
you.  Women,  women  especially.  There  is  only  one 
way  to  benefit  women.  Love  them.  I  love  them  all  ! 
Short  or  tall,  fat  or  lean,  ugly  or  beautiful,  I  love  them, 
and  I  make  love  to  them.  Poor  dears  !"  he  exclaimed. 
"  I  should  like  to  marry  them  all  !" 

"  0  fie  !"  said  Mr.  Worringham,  shaking  a  playful  fin- 
ger at  him. 

"  If  it  were  moral,"  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  added,  im- 
pressively. 

"  Admirable  sentiment,"  said  the  vicar,  caught  by  the 
word  moral.  "  You  always  do  the  right  thing — yes, 
yes.  I  can  trust  you.  But  you're  too  fond  of  your 
joke,  perhaps." 

"  Many  a  true  word  may  be  spoken  in — er — an  under- 
tone," Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  assured  him. 

The  vicar  assented  to  this  with  a  nod.  Then  he  rose, 
looked  at  the  empty  glass  a  moment  regretfully,  then 
gave  it  another  little  push  towards  his  host. 

But  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  was  wisely  obdurate. 

For  even  as  it  was,  the  gentle  vicar  never  knew  how  he 
got  home. 

Little  Miss  Spice  had  been  in  a  state  of  exaltation 
ever  since  the  night  of  the  serenade.  Florence  Japp 
took  her  the  news  of  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney's  perfidy. 

"  Do  you  understand  it  ?"  Florence  demanded,  her 
dark,  handsome  face  blotched  with  restrained  emotion. 

"  Yes,  I  understand  it,"  Ally  said,  solemnly.  "  He  is 
mad.  I  tell  you,  for  I  know.  I  know  that  he  is  mad." 

She  met  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  by  accident  one  even- 
ing, on  the  very  spot  on  which  they  had  met  on  that 
never-to-be-forgotten  summer  evening  when — oh,  dear  1 
when  he  was  not  mad. 

They  shook  hands. 

He  looked  into  her  eyes  reproachfully. 

412 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Ally/'  he  said,  "  I  still  await  your  kind  congratula- 
tions." 

"  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney,"  she  replied,  and  to  her  dy- 
ing day  she  could  recall  just  how  she  said  it — "Mr. 
Jellybond  Tinney,  I  cannot  congratulate  you,  for  I  do 
not  consider  you  a  responsible  person  at  the  present 
moment.  Had  you  been  yourself,  you  would  never,  no, 
you  would  never  have  given  your  hand  where  your 
heart  can  never  be." 

"  Oh,  Ally !  you  make  me  a  responsible  being  again 
for  a  moment,"  he  ejaculated,  raising  his  eyes  to  the 
evening  sky.  "  How  ineffectual  is  the  human  and  finite 
reason  of  man  1  how  sublime  the  woman's  divine  intu- 
ition !  Good-bye,  Ally  I" 

He  held  out  his  hand. 

She  gave  him  hers. 

He  clasped  it  to  his  heart  a  moment,  and  during  that 
moment  there  came  to  her  that  soothing  sense  of  in- 
evitability which  takes  the  sting  from  untoward  circum- 
stances and  makes  blame  an  injustice. 

Thus  was  her  hero  restored  to  little  Miss  Spice,  a  vic- 
tim of  fate.  Victims  of  fate  were  they  both — he,  smit- 
ten as  he  was  by  that  strange  malady ;  she,  bereft  of  all 
— all  but  the  happy  past. 


CHAPTER    XLIV 

BABS  took  Barbara's  departure  philosophically 
enough ;  but  once  she  was  gone  Babs  missed 
her.  Insensibly,  just  by  being  herself,  Bar- 
bara had  influenced  her  pupil ;  but  neither  of 
them  was  aware  of  the  fact.  So  Barbara  made  her  es- 
cape from  Dane  Court  gladly,  because  the  sense  of  fail- 
ure weighed  upon  her ;  and  Babs  felt  her  loss  without 
knowing  what  it  was  that  particularly  depressed  her. 
Barbara  had  made  her  keep  regular  hours,  and  do  a 
certain  amount  of  work  every  day ;  and  the  occupation, 
although  often  irksome,  was  always  a  distraction.  Now 
she  had  absolutely  nothing  to  do  that  she  must  do.  She 
sang  a  little,  read  a  little,  rode,  walked,  loitered  about — 
for  the  most  part  loitered  about,  restlessly ;  and  the  old 
yearning  ache  at  her  heart  grew  ever  more  importunate. 
Montacute  was  still  at  home,  but  they  were  no  longer 
close  companions,  as  they  used  to  be.  Always  preco- 
cious, he  had  now  quite  ceased  to  be  a  boy.  In  another 
year  he  would  be  of  age,  and  he  had  already  begun  to 
interest  himself  in  his  property.  The  way  in  which  he 
had  taken  the  announcement  of  his  mother's  engage- 
ment to  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  had  been  a  surprise  to 
everybody.  Mrs.  Kingconstance  had  thought  it  neces- 
sary to  excuse  herself,  to  assume  an  apologetic  tone. 

"  My  dear  mother,  why  shouldn't  you  marry  him  if 
you  like  ?"  Montacute  asked.  "  I'm  sure  he's  not  a  bad 
old  boy.  You've  nearly  done  with  me,  you  know,  and 
it's  a  good  thing  you've  found  some  one  to  take  care  of 

414 


YOU    MIGHT    AT    LEAST    HAVE    WAITED    UNTIL    I   WAS    MARRIED 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

you.  It's  your  turn  to  be  taken  care  of  now.  My  minor- 
ity must  have  been  a  long,  trying  business  to  you,  and 
such  a  tie,  besides,  keeping  you  here  at  Dane  Court  so 
long.  I  congratulate  you." 

Mrs.  Kingconstance  understood  him.  She  knew  what 
he  meant  by  the  cruel  contraction  of  her  heart,  the  pang 
of  the  mother  dismissed. 

"  Thank  you,  dear  Cute,"  she  said,  with  a  dry  sob  and 
a  perfunctory  kiss.  "  Of  course,  when  you're  of  age, 
you'll  want  your  house  to  yourself." 

"  Oh,  but  equally  of  course  you  won't  turn  out  in  any 
hurry,"  he  replied,  magnanimously.  "  Naturally  my 
house  is  my  mother's  as  long  as  it  suits  her  to  live 
in  it." 

It  did  not  escape  her  that  he  left  her  with  a  light  step, 
glad  to  have  got  the  business  settled ;  and  she  was 
deeply  wounded.  He  had  given  her  notice  to  go,  her 
only  son,  to  go  from  the  home  of  her  husband,  the  home 
of  the  best  years  of  her  life,  the  home  she  had  made  a 
happy  one  for  him.  She  would  in  any  case  have  offered 
to  go  when  he  came  of  age,  as  a  matter  of  course ;  he 
need  not  have  turned  her  out.  She  had  certainly  done 
well  to  accept  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney. 

Julia  was  furious  about  her  mother's  engagement. 
"  You  might  at  least  have  waited  until  I  was  married, 
mamma,"  she  said  ;  "  or,  at  all  events,  if  you  must  marry 
at  your  age,  you  need  not  have  married  beneath  you." 

Miss  Kingconstance  merely  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  You  don't  think  it  foolish,  Lorraine  ?"  Mrs.  King- 
constance asked,  deprecatingly. 

"  No,"  her  sister-in-law  answered.  "  I  think  it  quite 
natural.  Why  shouldn't  you  be  happy  in  your  own 
way  ?  I  wish  to  goodness  I  had  had  the  sense  to  make 
my  life  for  myself,  instead  of  letting  it  be  marred  by 
other  people.  However,  it  is  not  too  late  !" 

She  smiled  to  herself  as  at  some  pleasant  prospect. 

415 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

She  had  struck  out  for  herself  in  a  new  direction  during 
these  last  few  years.  Much  of  her  time  was  now  spent 
in  London,  where  she  did  something  vague  which  had 
had  the  happy  effect  of  restoring  her  youth.  A  purpose 
in  life  had  increased  her  vitality;  she  was  all  energy 
now,  and  interest — a  new  woman. 

Babs  had  no  feeling  whatever  on  the  subject  of  her 
mother's  marriage.  Old  Jelly  bond  had  always  been 
about  within  her  recollection,  and  it  did  not  seem  to  her 
that  it  made  the  slightest  difference  whether  her  mother 
married  him  or  not. 

"  So  long  as  he  does  not  assume  papa  airs  with  me,  I 
don't  mind,"  was  all  that  she  said. 

In  those  days  she  did  not  care  about  anything  realty 
but  Cadenhouse.  She  often  dreamed  at  night  that  the 
light  from  the  tower  was  streaming  in  upon  her,  and 
started  up,  wide  awake,  only  to  find  her  room  in  dark- 
ness ;  and  then  she  wrould  lie  awake,  and  toss  and  toss 
feverishly  for  hours. 

*  I  must  care  for  him  greatly,"  she  said  to  herself. 

At  last,  one  night,  before  she  had  slept  at  all,  and  just 
when  she  was  thinking  least  about  it,  on  a  sudden  the 
glow-worm  radiance  illumined  her  room.  She  was  not 
startled.  The  light  had  the  effect  of  a  tender  message, 
gently  delivered.  Her  whole  being  was  suffused  by 
something  analogous  in  the  way  of  emotion,  a  certain 
sort  of  gladness  that  had  some  indefinable  characteristic 
in  common  with  the  light. 

"  He  is  there,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  there  at  last — just 
across  the  valley.  But  oh  !  what  miles  away  that 
means  !  Oh,  to  be  back  in  the  old  days  when  I  dared  to 
go  to  the  tower.  When  shall  we  meet  ?  When  shall  we 
meet  ?  And  where  ?  and  where  ?" 

She  could  not  sleep  that  night,  she  could  not  rest  next 
day.  All  life  had  been  resolved  into  a  cruel  ache  of 
expectation. 

416 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  I  can't  stand  this  long,  you  know/'  she  said  to  her- 
self. "  If  I  don't  end  it,  it  will  end  me." 

At  first  she  stayed  in-doors  ;  then  she  took  to  wander- 
ing about.  Sometimes  she  rode  an  impossible  distance, 
and  sometimes  she  walked.  But  she  never  went  near 
the  tower. 

One  afternoon  she  called  upon  Ally  Spice  and  con- 
fided in  her,  as  she  had  been  wont  to  do  all  her  life  ;  and 
the  dear  little  woman  had  made  her  take  tea  and  hot 
buttered  toast,  and  had  comforted  her. 

"  I  know,  I  know,  my  dear,"  she  said.  "  I've  been 
through  it  all  myself,  and  it  hurts,  the  heartache  hurts. 
Fate  was  against  us,  but  I  seem  to  see  that  it  is  not 
against  you.  It  will  all  come  right,  my  dear.  I  seem  to 
see  that  it  will." 

It  was  on  that  evening,  as  Babs  walked  home  alone, 
that  they  met  at  last. 

Cadenhouse  was  coming  from  Dane  Court,  riding 
thoughtfully.  He  was  taken  unawares,  and  looked  at 
her  a  moment  before  he  recognized  her,  then  gravely 
raised  his  hat  and  passed  on.  Always  before  he  had 
dismounted  when  they  met,  and  turned  back  with  her, 
leading  his  horse. 

At  dinner  that  night  Miss  Kingconstance  was  looking 
unusually  well. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?"  Babs  asked  her,  irritably. 
"  You  are  all  irradiated,  as  if  you  were  lighted  up  inside 
by  electricity." 

"  I  am,"  said  Miss  Kingconstance.     "  I'm  happy." 

They  had  walked  together  that  day,  she  and  Caden- 
house, down  the  green  alleys  of  the  park,  talking  long 
and  earnestly.  He  was  on  his  way  back  from  a  formal 
call  at  Dane  Court  when  he  overtook  her.  He  had  made 
that  call  on  his  return  from  abroad  as  the  best  way  of 
bridging  over  the  episode  between  himself  and  Babs. 

"  May  I  compliment  you  on  your  appearance,  Lor- 
2D  417 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

raine  ?"  he  said,  when  he  had  dismounted  and  they  had 
shaken  hands.  "  The  last  time  we  walked  here  together 
I  was  alarmed  for  you  ;  but  now  you  look  yourself 
again." 

She  smiled  at  him. 

"  I  cannot  return  the  compliment/'  she  said  ;  "  for  you 
are  not  looking  at  all  yourself  as  I  have  hitherto  known 

you." 

Cadenhouse  adjusted  his  horse's  rein  on  his  arm,  but 
made  no  answer.  She  saw,  however,  that  he  had  heard 
what  she  said,  and  was  considering  her  words. 
.  "  Yes,  you  have  changed,"  she  continued  ;  "  and  upon 
the  whole,  I  like  the  change.  You  have  come  down  to 
earth.  Your  habit  was  to  hold  yourself  too  much  aloof 
from  your  fellow-creatures." 

"  I  do  not  like  the  change  myself,"  he  said.  "  I  hope 
to  change  back  again.  The  truth  is,  I  had  a  bad  fall, 
and  was  much  shaken,  but  now  I  am  recovering." 

"  Alas !"  sighed  Miss  Kingconstance.  "  You  of  all 
men  who  might  do  so  much  good  here  below  if  only  you 
would  spare  us  a  little  time  from  the  perfecting  of  your 
own  soul  !  You  are  inconsistent,  Cadenhouse.  You 
ought  not,  with  your  ideas,  to  be  a  rich  man." 

"  I  grant  that  I  should  not  use  riches  for  myself,"  he 
answered.  "  But  in  this  age,  what  would  it  profit  the 
cause  of  happiness  if  I  became  a  beggar  ?  I  would  fain 
make  the  whole  world  happy,  but  the  only  world  I  can 
get  at  is  the  little  world  on  my  own  estate.  Still,  if  every 
man  did  as  much  as  I — " 

He  broke  off,  for  the  thought,  as  it  found  expression, 
was  somewhat  self-righteous. 

More  than  once  a  qualm  of  this  kind  had  come  to 
disturb  him  lately.  He  had  certainly  done  his  duty 
generously  on  his  own  estates  ;  but,  except  for  that,  he 
had  taken  no  part  in  the  life  of  the  place,  neither  as  an 
active  agent  nor  as  an  onlooker.  He  knew  practically 

418 


nothing  at  all  about  his  neighbors.  He  had  lived  the 
life  of  a  recluse — looking  up — allowing  his  splendid  in- 
fluence and  great  personal  prestige  to  lapse,  unexercised. 
Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  might  lord  it  over  the  ladies  about 
him,  Miss  Spice's  good  little  heart  might  be  broken, 
Miss  Kingconstance  might  suffer  the  martyrdom  of  an 
aimless  existence  until  her  brilliant  wits  went  wrong, 
and  Babs  he  made  impossible  forever  ;  and  Caden- 
house,  left  to  himself,  cultivating  compassion  up  there 
in  his  high  tower,  holding  himself  secluded  in  an  atmos- 
phere of  heavenly  thought,  the  most  ecstatic  atmosphere 
of  all,  would  have  sailed  on  into  eternity  serenely  un- 
aware of  these  catastrophes.  And  he  had  come  back 
now  fully  prepared  to  take  up  the  old  life  just  where  it  had 
been  interrupted  by  the  intrusion  of  human  nature  in  the 
seductive  person  of  Babs  the  Impossible.  His  seclusion 
was  all  the  more  to  be  regretted  because  the  man  was 
extraordinary.  He  said  so  little,  yet,  wherever  he  had 
been,  there  remained,  so  long  as  the  recollection  of  his 
words  weighed  with  those  who  heard  them,  that  strange 
expansion  of  heart,  that  beautiful  release  from  weariful 
thought  which  is  happiness.  A  man  with  this  particu- 
lar power  wrongs  the  world  to  a  criminal  extent  if,  for 
purposes  of  his  own,  he  limits  the  sphere  of  his  influence 
by  seeking  seclusion. 

They  had  walked  on  together  in  silence  after  that  last 
remark. 

As  usual,  when  she  was  with  him,  a  great  calm  had 
fallen  upon  Miss  Kingconstance.  Babs  was  a  little 
human  being,  with  body,  soul,  and  spirit  all  battling  in 
her  at  once,  each  claiming  its  separate  satisfaction. 
The  life  of  suppression  which  had  been  forced  on  Miss 
Kingconstance  had  made  her  dependent  upon  her  in- 
tellect for  such  solace  as  she  could  grasp ;  her  other  at- 
tributes had  died  of  atrophy  for  want  of  exercise.  But 
intellect  without  spirituality  is  like  affection  without 

419 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

kindness;  it  does  not  warm  the  heart.  Therefore  her 
companionship  was  grateful  to  Cadenhouse  just  at  this 
moment,  when  all  his  energy  was  directed  towards  sup- 
pressing in  himself  that  which  had  responded  so  unex- 
pectedly to  the  human  nature  of  Babs. 

"  You  say  I  am  looking  rrryself  again,  Cadenhouse," 
Miss  Kingconstance  ventured,  after  a  long  pause.  "  Do 
you  know  why  ?  Do  you  know  to  what  I  owe  the  happy 
change  ?" 

"  No,"  he  answered. 

"  To  you — to  your  influence." 

He  looked  straight  ahead  of  him,  reflecting. 

"  I  am  glad,"  he  said ;  but  she  could  see  that  he  was 
puzzled. 

"  Is  it  so  slight  a  thing  to  you  to  release  a  fellow- 
creature  from  the  curse  of  madness  that  you  do  not 
even  know  when  you  exercise  the  power  ?"  she  asked. 

"  But  you  were  never  mad,  Lorraine  1"  he  answered, 
startled. 

"  I  was  mad.  I  was  suffering  from  morbid  self-con- 
sciousness. Day  and  night  I  thought  only  of  myself 
• — of  my  own  tragic  condition.  I  was  devoured  with 
rage  and  hate  and  bitterness.  Our  good  old  vicar  was 
the  first  to  help  me.  He  said  something  to  me  once  by 
which  I  afterwards  profited — afterwards,  when  you  had 
taken  me  out  of  myself.  I  complained  to  him  one  day. 
'  You  give  no  sympathy/  he  said.  '  I  get  so  little/  I 
answered.  '  It  is  not  the  sympathy  we  receive  our- 
selves but  the  sympathy  we  expend  upon  others  that 
avails  to  help  us/  "  he  replied. 

Cadenhouse  hitched  up  the  bridle  on  his  arm  and 
looked  on  ahead. 

"  Do  you  feel  that  ?"  said  Miss  Kingconstance. 

"  It  may  be  so,"  he  said. 

"  I  told  him  I  was  mad,"  she  pursued.  "  '  No,  no, 
you  are  not  mad/  he  said.  '  Madness  is  disease  of  the 

420 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

brain,  organic  disease.  Your  malady  is  disease  of  the 
moral  nature.  You  have  brought  it  on  yourself  ;  you 
can  cure  yourself  !'  '  How  ?'  I  asked.  But  that  was 
all  he  could  do  for  me.  He  answered  with  the  usual 
platitudes.  Then  you  came.  Perhaps  you  remember 
the  day.  '  The  first  germ  of  disease  was  propagated 
in  a  malicious  mind  by  an  evil  thought/  you  said. 
'What  a  pity  our  doctors  don't  pursue  that  line  of  re- 
search !'  I  exclaimed.  That  set  me  off.  Do  you  un- 
derstand how  ?" 

"  Yes/'  he  answered ;  "  for  I  have  observed  that  the 
mind  once  interested  in  ethical  subjects  is  apt  to  pursue 
them." 

"  Cadenhouse/'  she  broke  out,  passionately,  "  do  you 
think  it  right  to  live  the  life  of  a  recluse,  to  shelter  your- 
self from  contact  with  the  world  when  in  you  lies  such 
power  to  help  ?" 

Cadenhouse  looked  on  ahead,  but  did  not  answer. 

She  left  the  question  to  work. 

"  That  was  the  beginning  of  the  change  in  me,"  she 
recommenced.  "  That  day  you  restored  me  to  mental 
health,  and  started  me  on  the  career  of  usefulness  that 
has  saved  me.  I  feel  that  I  have  missed  the  great  good 
of  a  woman's  life  in  that  I  have  not  married.  Marriage 
is  the  most  perfect  state  ;  but  still — " 

All  at  once  he  saw  her  from  a  new  point  of  view.  That 
a  woman  could  feel  herself  wronged  because  celibacy 
had  been  forced  upon  her,  that  it  could  be  contrary  to 
her  nature,  was  a  possibility  that  had  never  before  oc- 
curred to  him,  so  steeped  was  he  in  the  contorted  the- 
ories of  life  which  were  dear  to  the  morbid  medisevalist. 
Looking  down  at  her  from  this  new  point  of  view, 
he  was  struck  with  the  fact  that  the  slender,  elegant, 
daintily  dressed  creature  beside  him  was  an  attractive 
woman. 

"  But  —  if  I  may  venture  without  impertinence," 

421 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

slipped  from  him,  "  why  shouldn't  you  marry,  Lor- 
raine ?" 

"  Why   don't  you  marry,   Cadenhouse  ?"   she  said, 
laughing  to  cover  a  momentary  embarrassment. 

Once  more  he  looked  on  ahead,  and  once  more  she  left 
the  suggestion  to  do  its  work. 

422 


CHAPTER    X  LV 

IF  the  cries  of  our  hearts  could  be  heard,  the  rocks 
would  be  rent  with  compassion.  But  the  ears 
of  the  flesh  were  deceived  by  the  ominous  stillness 
which  had  settled  upon  Babs  in  those  days.  For 
the  first  time  in  her  life  her  chatter  had  ceased.  Walk- 
ing, she  carried  herself  with  a  new  dignity — shoulders 
back,  head  erect,  countenance  proudly  set.  At  table, 
too,  she  sat  stiffly,  drawn  up  to  her  full  height,  and  an- 
swered when  addressed,  but  seldom  joined  in  the  con- 
versation or  volunteered  a  remark.  They  all  thought 
that  her  sudden  haughtiness  of  demeanor  was  the  con- 
sequence of  the  Jellybond  Tinney  affair. 

"  It  will  do  her  good,  then,  that  is  all  that  I  can  say," 
Mrs.  Kingconstance  observed  to  her  sister-in-law,  com- 
placently, "  if  it  makes  her  remember  at  last  who  she  is." 

Miss  Kingconstance  smiled.  The  notion  of  a  mother 
marrying  beneath  her  in  order  to  arouse  a  proper  pride 
of  birth  in  her  daughter  appealed  to  her  sense  of  humor ; 
but  she  said  nothing.  Her  soul  was  blossoming  into 
beauty  in  those  days.  Her  wit  was  no  longer  acrid. 
The  hope  in  her  heart  made  summer  in  her  life,  and 
under  its  genial  influence  her  whole  nature  had  ripened 
into  sweetness. 

But  Babs's  attitude  was  in  no  way  the  consequence  of 
the  Jellybond  Tinney  business.  She  was  absorbed  in 
her  own  affairs,  that  was  all.  "  Cadenhouse  !  Caden- 
house  !  Cadenhouse  !"  was  the  cry  of  her  heart  day 
and  night ;  and  not  all  her  latent  strength  of  character, 

423 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

which  she  did  her  best  to  summon  to  the  task  from  the 
secret  recesses  of  her  being,  availed  to  stifle  it.  She  had 
felt  herself  slighted  by  the  coldness  of  his  salutation 
when  at  last  they  met,  and  had  drawn  herself  up,  proudly 
resentful ;  and  so  she  had  remained,  but  only  outwardly. 
Inwardly  she  humbled  herself  in  the  dust  before  him, 
and  her  heart  went  out  to  him  entreating,  imploring  : 
"  Cadenhouse  !  Cadenhouse  !  Cadenhouse  !" 

One  day  he  had  come  to  lunch,  and  on  that  occasion 
she  had  borne  herself  bravely,  rattling  on  as  had  been 
her  wont.  No  one  would  have  suspected  that  she  had 
to  make  a  mighty  effort  to  recapture  her  old  self  ;  but  it 
seemed  to  her  that  Cadenhouse  saw  through  the  pose, 
knew  she  was  suffering,  and  remained  cold  and  calm 
and  indifferent.  The  thing  which  takes  the  light  out  of 
life  is  the  eye,  become  critical,  which  was  once  affection- 
ate and  admiring.  Babs  was  stung  to  desperation. 

"  It  can't  go  on  like  this,  you  know, "she  said  to  her- 
self. 

When  she  made  her  escape  from  the  table  she  rushed 
headlong  out  of  the  house,  and  on  and  on  until  she  came 
to  a  secluded  spot  on  the  Wyldeholme  property,  where  the 
bank  sloped  down  to  the  rivulet  on  the  one  side  and  up 
again  on  the  other  steeply,  and  all  humanity  was  blotted 
out  by  the  trees  that  crested  the  ridge.  Here  the  in- 
fluences— the  bird-calls  and  the  murmur  of  running 
water,  the  flutter  of  dainty  butterflies  and  the  inter- 
mittent hum  of  the  bees — were  all  sweet  natural  in- 
fluences, and  gently  persuasive. 

She  sat  her  down  in  the  shade,  her  back  resting  against 
an  old  gnarled  tree,  her  elbows  on  her  knees,  her  face 
between  her  hands,  and  gazed  down,  woebegone,  into 
the  running  water.  "  Cadenhouse  !  Cadenhouse  !  Ca- 
denhouse !"  came  the  cry  of  her  heart,  reproachfully. 
How  could  he  talk  so  placidly  to  her  aunt  when  she  was 
there  ?  How  could  he  be  so  indifferent  to  her,  or  pre- 
424 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

tend  to  be?  "  Cadenhouse !  Cadenhouse!  Cadenhouse!" 
came  the  cry  of  her  heart,  entreatingly.  "  Give  me  one 
more  chance !" 

Suddenly  she  became  aware  of  the  water.  Its  babble 
became  importunate.  Thought  suspended  itself  in- 
voluntarily; she  found  herself  listening.  She  tried  to 
make  out  a  message  for  herself  in  the  inarticulate  gurgle. 
But  always  when  she  seemed  on  the  point  of  success 
something  distracted  her  attention  for  a  moment.  Once 
it  was  a  cockchafer  to  be  beaten  off ;  once  a  booming 
bumble-bee  busy  among  the  meadow-sweet ;  and  once 
a  bird  said  something  indistinct.  Thus,  by  degrees,  the 
wholesome  influences  of  the  place  took  possession  of  her. 
The  solitude,  the  summer  sounds,  the  warmth  and 
sweetness,  all  made  for  soothing.  The  tension  of  her 
high-strung  nerves  relaxed.  She  looked  about  her,  she 
stretched  her  cramped  limbs.  She  felt  far  from  the 
world.  Even  her  trouble  took  on  an  aspect  of  remote- 
ness, as  if  it  had  happened  in  some  by-gone  age  and 
mattered  little  now. 

"  Cadenhouse,"  she  sighed  to  herself,  loving  the  very 
name. 

Nature  she  also  loved,  for  everywhere  in  nature  was 
Cadenhouse. 

The  sunlight  crept  through  the  leaves  and  rested  on 
her  head.  She  looked  about  for  a  shadier  spot.  Be- 
neath the  trees  the  grass  had  been  recently  cut,  and  was 
now  piled  up  in  little  heaps  of  hay.  She  collected  enough 
to  make  a  bed  for  herself,  and  a  pillow ;  then  she  took 
off  her  hat  and  settled  herself  at  full  length,  her  head 
resting  on  her  arm,  her  eyes  on  the  running  water.  The 
influences  of  the  hour  became  importunate.  Her  eyelids 
flickered,  fell,  and  were  finally  sealed  in  sleep. 

She  made  a  pretty  picture  lying  there,  a  picture  of  per- 
fect girlish  beauty — shell-pink  and  pearl-white,  sensi- 
tive, refined,  intelligent.  The  sun  sought  her  out  once 

425 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

more,  peeping  through  the  leaves,  then  sent  a  happy  ray 
to  light  her. 

A  young  man  who  was  loitering  past  at  the  moment 
saw  the  ray  fall  from  the  foliage,  and  followed  it  with 
idle  eye  to  its  resting-place. 

"Just  the  nook  for  a  nymph,"  he  said  to  himself, 
stopping  short.  "And  what  a  set  for  a  play,  lime-light 
and  all  !  I  must  make  a  note  of  it  for  Oliver  !" 

He  took  out  a  note-book,  and  drew  a  horizontal  line 
which  he  labelled  "  nymph  "  ;  some  vertical  lines  which 
he  called  "  trees  "  ;  a  diagonal  line  for  "  lime-light  "  ; 
a  few  scratches  for  "  bank  "  ;  and  some  nourishes  for 
"  water." 

As  he  closed  the  book  Babs  opened  her  eyes. 

She  looked  at  him  unintelligently  for  a  moment,  then 
she  took  her  arm  from  under  her  head  and  sat  up.  As 
she  did  so  she  uttered  an  exclamation. 

"  My  arm's  asleep,"  she  explained. 

"  Let  me  help  you,"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand. 

"  Don't  come  within  a  mile  of  me,"  she  cried,  with  a  wry 
laugh.  "  It's  in  the  stage  of  pins  and  needles  now.  It'll 
pass  off  in  a  moment." 

As  she  spoke  it  occurred  to  her  that  the  young  man 
standing  there  looking  down  upon  her,  whom  she  was 
taking  into  her  confidence  so  completely  and  unaffected- 
ly, was  an  absolute  stranger. 

She  looked  up  at  him  to  consider  him  in  this  new 
light. 

"  I  wonder  if,  by  any  chance,  you  are  Jeffrey  Wylde  ?" 
she  said,  slowly  rubbing  her  arm  as  she  spoke. 

"  At  your  service,"  he  answered,  taking  off  his  hat  with 
a  pleasant  smile.  "  But  you  have  the  advantage  of  me." 

"  I  am  Lorraine  Kingconstance,"  she  replied. 

"  Lorraine,"  he  repeated,  a  little  puzzled.  "  Babs, 
perhaps  ?" 

"  Yes,  Babs,"  she  said. 

426 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

Then  they  smiled  at  each  other,  and  the  introduction 
was  complete. 

"  I  am  trying  to  recollect  you,"  he  said.  "  You  were  a 
baby  when  I  went  away." 

"  Not  quite,"  she  said,  "  for  I  remember  you.  Only  I 
thought  you  were  immensely  tall." 

"  And  you  find  me  disappointingly  short  ?" 

"  Oh  no,"  she  answered  ;  "  a  happy  medium." 

Again  he  raised  his  hat  and  smiled. 

"  I'm  trespassing,  I  suppose,"  she  said.  "  We've 
been  in  the  habit  of  overrunning  your  property  in  your 
absence,  and  taking  tea  with  old  Grimwood  when  it 
pleased  us.  Do  you  mind  ?" 

"  On  the  contrary,"  he  answered,  "  I  hope  you  will 
always  overrun  my  property,  and  take  tea  with  old 
Grimwood  when  it  pleases  you.  Why  not  come  now  ?" 

"  Why  not  ?"  she  said. 

She  had  risen,  and  was  putting  on  her  hat.  He 
watched  her  admiringly.  The  attitude  accentuated  the 
slender  lines  of  her  figure.  Her  every  movement  was 
graceful. 

Jeffrey  Wylde  was  short,  fair,  dapper,  with  a  culti- 
vated voice  and  a  gently  caressing  manner.  Voice  and 
manner  together  suggested  refinement  of  mind  ;  but 
the  suggestion  was  fallacious.  His  only  refinement  was 
of  the  senses.  Coarse-flavored  food  can  be  refined  to 
the  palate  in  the  cooking,  but  the  substance  is  the  same  ; 
and  in  the  same  way  a  coarse  mind  can  be  disguised  by 
tricks  of  manner — for  a  time.  Sooner  or  later  the  dis- 
guise becomes  irksome  and  is  cast  aside.  The  key  to 
Jeffrey  Wylde's  character  was  to  be  found  in  the  mon- 
strosity of  a  mustache  which  he  wore. 

As  they  strolled  on  together  towards  the  house  he 
asked  after  various  people  in  the  neighborhood.  In  re- 
plying, Babs  happened  to  mention  some  notable  eccen- 
tricity in  each. 

427 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Are  they  all  such  oddities  ?"  he  exclaimed,  at  last. 

"  Yes,  we're  all  rather  queer  hereabouts/'  said  Babs. 
*  Privilege  of  ancient  families,  you  know.  You'll  be 
queer,  too,  when  you've  been  here  long  enough.  Mam- 
ma's the  only  one  of  us  who  isn't  queer — and  Julia. 
But  then,  of  course,  mamma  isn't  one  of  us.  But,  any- 
way, they're  both  uninteresting,  and  both  provoking — 
mamma,  I  mean,  and  Julia.  It  is  mamma's  laziness 
that  provokes  me.  I  am  all  energy  myself.  I  must  al- 
ways be  doing,  doing,  doing — something.  Julia  is  pro- 
voking in  another  way.  There  are  some  people  who  do 
things  and  do  them  well,  and  you  are  glad  for  them  that 
they  can  ;  but  there  are  other  people  who  do  the  same 
things  and  make  you  feel  you  hate  them  for  it.  It  is 
because  they  put  such  an  exorbitant  value  upon  their 
own  little  achievements,  I  think.  It  is  a  fine  nature  that 
is  not  offensive  in  the  hour  of  triumph.  Julia  is  so 
puffed  up  with  her  own  conceit  she  makes  you  feel  she 
is  boasting  herself  superior." 

Jeffrey  made  a  mental  note  of  this  remark.  He  mis- 
took it  for  an  indication  of  petty  jealousy. 

"  Is  Julia  also  beautiful  ?"  he  asked. 

"  /  think  her  so,"  Babs  answered.  "  Then,  also,  she 
is  accomplished.  She  is  a  good  musician  and  a  good 
linguist,  and  draws  and  paints  well.  In  fact,  any- 
thing she  does  she  does  well." 

Jeffrey  mistook  this  praise  for  an  overdone  attempt  to 
cover  the  self-betrayal  of  the  previous  criticism. 

"And  what  do  you  do  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  do  all  the  appreciation.  I'm  audience,  I'm 
chorus,  I'm  everything  that's  encouraging  to  others  in 
the  family  circle.  And  I  contend  that,  in  my  own  way, 
I'm  useful." 

"  You're  clever,  too,  I  should  say,  if  I  may." 

"  No,  I'm  not  clever,  I'm — what's  the  word  ?  I  can 
see  into  things  ;  but  set  me  down  to  a  book  and  my  head 

428 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

buzzes.  I  hate  books  and  pictures  and  art  and  all  man- 
ufactures directty  I'm  asked  to  understand  them." 

*  What  do  you  like,  then  ?" 

"  Oh,  the  things  I  like  are — fresh  air,  and  the  smell  of 
the  earth  after  rain,  and  the  freedom  of  animals — their 
gambols,  their  healthiness  and  happiness.  Do  I  ex- 
plain myself  ?  I  expect  you  will  despise  me  ;  but  the 
cattle  in  the  meadows,  and  the  awkwardness  of  the 
calves,  and  the  hares  on  their  hind-legs,  nosing  round 
for  their  enemies,  and  the  bunnies  at  sunset  feeding, 
and  all  on  the  alert  for  surprises — these  things  touch 
some  chord  of  delight  in  me  that  makes  paint  on  can- 
vas, poetry  on  paper,  and  all  your  other  arts  no  more 
to  me  than  a  wax  flower  is  to  the  real  red  rose.  These 
things  " — she  indicated  all  nature  with  a  wave  of  her 
hand — "  these  things  include  me,  you  see  ;  they  make 
me  part  of  the  poem." 

"  But,"  he  began,  tentatively,  "  if  Nature  in  the  ab- 
stract moves  you  so  much,  what  joy  will  there  be  left 
for  Nature  in  the  concrete  to  give  you  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  Nature  in  the  concrete  ?" 

"  I  mean  love." 

"Ah— love  !"  she  said,  softly.  "With  Nature  in  the 
abstract  I  am  on  the  earth,  of  course  ;  but  when  Nature 
in  the  concrete  comes — then  I  shall  have  wings." 

There  was  a  pause.  Her  thoughts  flew  to  Caden- 
house.  Jeffrey  was  trying  to  place  her.  Was  she  sim- 
ple or  was  she  deep  ?  Was  she  fast  or  was  she  fool- 
ish ?  He  was  ready  to  believe  her  to  be  both. 

He  knew  human  nature  only  from  the  point  of  view 
of  the  little  clique  within  a  clique  which  calls  itself  So- 
ciety. He  had  learned  the  life  of  courtesans  and  money- 
grubbers,  learned  to  live  promiscuously,  as  society  lives, 
and  lost  his  respect  for  women  and  his  faith  in  men.  All 
that  was  subtle  and  complex  in  Babs  was  of  necessity 
incomprehensible  to  this  conventional  sort  of  society  man. 

429 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Babs,"  he  began  again. 

Babs  started  from  her  reverie. 

"  I  am  puzzled/'  he  pursued.  "  You  never  read,  you 
say,  you  do  not  profess  to  think.  Then  whence  comes 
all  this  flow  of  language  ?" 

"  From  my  heart,  I  should  imagine,"  she  answered, 
readily  ;  "  seeing  that  I  have  no  soul — so  they  say." 

"  Ah !  so  you're  going  to  set  up  a  heart,"  he  observed. 
"  Don't.  Take  my  advice.  Have  a  good  time  if  you 
like,  and  talk  heart ;  but  don't  put  your  own  into  any- 
thing. It  will  hurt  if  you  do." 

"  Somehow  the  sentiment  jars,"  said  Babs. 

They  were  within  sight  of  the  house. 

"  Go  on,"  she  added.     "  I'll  follow  you." 

In  some  surprise  he  obeyed.  Then  it  occurred  to  him 
that  she  wanted  her  coming  to  appear  to  be  accidental, 
that  she  felt  some  impropriety  in  the  proceeding  ;  and, 
smiling  to  himself,  he  believed  that  he  quite  understood 
the  young  lady. 

Babs,  meanwhile,  was  innocently  wrestling  with  a 
broken  boot-lace.  She  had  on  a  pair  of  high  boots,  and 
in  a  fit  of  girlish  prudery  she  had  sent  him  on  that  she 
might  be  alone  to  tie  the  lace  herself,  for  she  feared  he 
would  see  it  was  loose  and  over  -  politely  insist  upon 
tying  it  for  her. 

He  met  her  on  the  steps. 

"  Grimwood  is  out,"  he  said ;  "  but  you  will  come  in 
all  the  same,  I  hope.  I  have  ordered  tea  in  the  library." 

He  did  not  know  if  Grimwood  were  out  or  not.  He, 
a  purely  conventional  type,  judging  Babs  by  conven- 
tional standards,  had  found  her  wanting,  and  was  tak- 
ing advantage  of  her  in  the  conventional  way. 

"  You  don't  mind  having  tea  with  me  alone  ?"  he 
asked. 

"  I  shall  be  delighted,"  Babs  answered,  indifferently. 

They  made  merry  together  over  the  teacups.  Babs 

43° 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

was  taken  out  of  herself  for  the  moment,  and  talked  as 
she  had  been  wont  to  talk  to  Cadenhouse  and  St.  Lam- 
bert— talked  until  she  became  intoxicated  with  talk. 
A  remark  of  Jeffrey's  pulled  her  up  short. 

"  You're  a  horrid  little  flirt,  Babs,  are  you  not  ?"  he 
ventured.  "  How  many  times  have  you  been  engaged 
already  ?" 

"  Is  that  the  kind  of  question  that  may  be  asked  ?" 
Babs  exclaimed,  quick  to  resent  the  impertinence. 

"  It  is  the  kind  of  question  one  may  ask  one's  inti- 
mates," he  answered,  a  trifle  disconcerted. 

"  I  can  scarcely  expect  to  be  numbered  among  your 
intimates  yet,"  she  said. 

"  I  apologize,"  he  replied.  "  With  some  people  one 
passes  through  no  preliminary  stage  of  acquaintance. 
One  seems  to  know  them  all  at  once.  I  could  have 
talked  to  you  about  anything  a  moment  ago  ;  now  I 
feel  horribly  snubbed." 

"  What  could  make  you  ask  such  a  question  ?"  Babs 
expostulated.  "  I  was  all  at  my  ease  with  you  before  ; 
now  I  feel  all  on  my  guard.  I  don't  know  why.  I 
never  felt  like  that  with  Sir  Owen  St.  Lambert,  never  !" 

"  He's  an  old  fogy,  isn't  he  ?" 

Babs  bridled  visibly. 

"  Might  I  venture  without  impertinence  to  suppose 
he  was  an  admirer  of  yours  ?" 

In  spite  of  herself,  Babs  smiled.  The  reaction  from 
the  cruel  tension  of  so  many  days  left  her  liable  to  rapid 
emotional  changes. 

"  I  miss  him  frightfully,"  she  declared.  "  He  is  one 
of  the  people  you  can  talk  to  about  anything,  if  you 
like.  He  never  says  the  wrong  thing  or  does  the  wrong 
thing— " 

"  Only  petted  you  when  you  were  in  the  mood,  I  sup- 
pose ?"  Jeffrey  ventured. 

Babs  dissolved  in  merriment. 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  I  am  thinking  of  the  day  we  parted,"  she  explained. 
"  '  What  sort  of  soap  do  you  use  ?'  I  shall  never  get  over 
that  !  If  it  had  been  Cadenhouse — " 

Jeffrey  pricked  up  his  ears  at  the  name.  He  had 
mistaken  her  apparently  irrelevant  laughter  for  mere 
levity. 

"  Babs,"  he  said,  with  mock  solemnity,  "  am  I  to  un- 
derstand that  you  have  been  trifling  with  Cadenhouse  ?" 

*  No,"  she  answered,  rattling  out  the  first  thing  that 
occurred  to  her  to  cover  the  confusion  which  was  caused 
by  the  mere  sound  of  his  name.  "  Cadenhouse  trifled 
with  me." 

"  This  is  serious,"  said  Jeffrey,  shaking  his  head. 
"  I  really  think  I  ought  to  improve  the  occasion." 

"  Oh,  improve  it,  if  you  know  how  !"  Babs  answered, 
at  random. 

She  was  sitting  in  the  corner  of  the  sofa  with  the  tea- 
table  in  front  of  her.  Jeffrey  sat  down  beside  her,  thus 
hemming  her  in.  He  looked  into  her  face  quizzically. 
Half  laughing,  half  embarrassed,  she  returned  his  gaze. 

"  Babs,"  he  said,  "  trifling  with  me  is  nothing.  I'm 
no  saint.  But  when  it  comes  to  Cadenhouse — " 

"  I  think,"  said  Babs,  with  sudden  stiffness — "  I  thin 
we  will  leave  Lord  Cadenhouse  out  of  the  argument." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  Jeffrey.  "  Do  you  knov/ 
that  that  is  the  only  nice  thing  you  have  said  to  me  ? 
I  must  thank  you  for  it." 

He  took  her  hand.  Babs  tried  to  snatch  it  away,  but 
he  held  it  fast. 

"  Such  a  pretty  little  hand — made  to  be  kind,"  he  said, 
and  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 

Alarmed  and  indignant  by  this  time,  Babs  jumped 
up,  knocked  over  the  tea-table,  scattering  the  china  in 
all  directions,  wrenched  herself  from  his  grasp,  and 
made  for  the  door.  It  opened  as  she  reached  it,  and 
she  came  into  violent  collision  with  Squire  Normanton. 

432 


"SHE   CAME   INTO    VIOLENT   COLLISION   WITH   SQUIRE   NORMANTON  " 


BABS      THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said,  recovering  herself. 

"  I  came  to  call  on  Jeffrey,"  the  squire  explained ;  "but 
it  seems  he  is  engaged." 

He  looked  from  the  young  man  to  the  broken  china 
and  grinned. 

Babs  made  her  escape. 

"  You'll  think  me  a  damned  nuisance,  I  expect,"  the 
squire  proceeded.  "  But  surely,  you  know,  this  is  com- 
ing it  a  little  too  strong,  eh  ?  A  young  lady  in  the 
county,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  don't  you  know  ?"  . 

*  Oh,  she's  all  right,"  Jeffrey  answered,  easily.  "  She 
came  to  see  old  Grimwood.  She  didn't  know  I'd  come 
back.  Grim  was  out,  and  tea  was  ready.  Of  course  I 
asked  her  to  come  in,  and  of  course  she  came  in  without 
any  affectation  or  nonsense.  You  must  remember  I 
knew  her  in  her  cradle.  And  just  as  you  arrived  I 
knocked  over  the  tea-table  by  an  awkward  accident, 
and  she  made  for  the  door  to  call  for  help — " 

"  I  see,"  said  Squire  Normanton,  and  passed  on  easily 
to  other  things. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said  to  his  wife  when  he  went  home, 
"  don't  let  the  girls  associate  with  Babs  more  than  you 
can  help.  She's  coming  it  altogether  too  strong.  I 
always  said  she  was  cut  out  to  be  about  as  bad  as  they 
make  'em." 

"  What's  she  been  doing  now  ?"  Mrs.  Normanton 
asked. 

Squire  Normanton  gave  her  his  own  version  of  the 
story,  which  was  altogether  to  the  discredit  of  Babs. 
And  that  was  the  version  which  was  known  by  the  end 
of  the  week  to  every  matron  in  the  county. 
2E  433 


CHAPTER    XLVI 

JEFFREY  called  next  day  at  Dane  Court  and 
made  Julia's  acquaintance.  Babs  did  not  ap- 
pear. Julia  displayed  her  mind  to  the  best  ad- 
vantage, the  mediocre  mind  in  whose  grudg- 
ing praise  there  is  always  a  note  of  detraction.  They 
understood  each  other  at  once. 

Julia  came  into  the  category  of  fine  girl — tall,  slender, 
upright  without  stiffness,  self-contained,  bearing  herself 
haughtily  to  inferiors,  affably  with  her  equals,  ac- 
knowledging no  superior.  She  spoke  of  Babs  in  a  patron- 
izing tone. 

"  Babs  is  so  erratic/'  she  remarked. 

Afterwards  Jeffrey  said  to  himself  : 

"  Miss  Julia  would  do  to  marry  ;  but  for  fun  give  me 
Babs  !  By  Jove !  not  a  bad  idea,"  he  proceeded.  "  When 
two  sisters  are  each  eligible  in  their  way,  marry  the  right 
one,  and  then  there's  the  other  always  at  hand,  and  it's 
all  in  the  family.  It's  time  I  married." 

He  made  the  reflection  over  his  wine  after  dinner, 
and  it  was  quite  characteristic  of  him  that  he  should 
make  up  his  mind  in  that  way,  for  he  was  a  methodical 
person  upon  the  whole.  He  took  things  in  regular  ro- 
tation— duty,  business,  love.  For  many  years  now  he 
had  always  carried  a  little  letter  in  his  breast-pocket — 
not  the  same  letter,  by  any  means  ;  not  even  written  in 
the  same  handwriting.  The  writers  had  been  taken  in 
rotation  with  the  rest  of  his  life.  At  the  end  of  the  day's 
doings,  while  he  was  enjoying  his  last  cigar,  it  had  been 

434 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

his  habit  to  take  out  the  little  letter  of  the  time-being  and 
read  it ;  and  usually,  as  he  did  so,  the  expression  of  his 
countenance  was  a  compound  of  sentimental  tenderness 
and  egregious  self-complacency.  But  when  he  had 
read  his  little  letter  on  this  occasion  his  attitude  was 
altered.  A  wood  fire  was  smouldering  upon  the  hearth. 
He  threw  the  little  letter  down  on  the  hot  embers  and 
watched  it  burn.  His  mind  was  made  up. 

Julia's  mind  was  also  made  up. 

"  He'll  do,"  she  said  to  herself  that  night,  in  the  retire- 
ment of  her  own  chamber.  "  I'll  have  every  penny  of 
my  own  money  settled  on  myself,  however,  in  case  of 
accidents." 

Miss  Kingconstance,  also  in  her  own  room,  glowed 
and  was  glad  at  that  moment,  fresh  from  another  walk 
and  talk  with  Cadenhouse. 

Babs  was  tossing  about  on  her  bed — writhing — 
deeply  humiliated;  and  always,  from  her  heart,  went 
up  a  cry  to  Cadenhouse,  a  cry  for  help. 

Down-stairs  Montacute  was  talking  to  Guy  Spice. 
He  had  made  Guy  Spice  his  secretary,  and  the  talk  now 
was  of  a  tour  round  the  world. 

Far  away  in  the  East,  St.  Lambert  was  reading  a  letter 
from  Barbara  Land.  It  was  in  answer  to  one  from  him. 

"  I  have  always  loved  you,  my  guardian,"  it  ran.  "  I 
thought  I  had  lost  you.  But  I  bore  myself  with  what 
courage  I  could  for  your  sake,  and  did,  to  the  best  of  my 
ability,  the  arduous  duty  you  imposed  upon  me.  How 
was  it  you  never  suspected  how  arduous  it  was  ?  You 
tell  me  that  you  realize  now  what  a  mistake  it  would 
have  been,  and  I  need  not  therefore  any  longer  disguise 
the  fact  that  I  thought  it  so  all  along.  But  do  not  let  us 
think  about  that  business  any  more.  My  night  of 
weeping  is  over  and  done  with,  and  now,  now  I  arise  for 
a  glad  new  day  of  song." 

435 


BABS      THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

St.  Lambert  kissed  the  letter. 

"  What  a  fool  I  very  nearly  was !"  he  muttered. 

In  those  days  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  gave  a  quiet  little 
dinner-party.  Jeffrey  Wylde  and  Cadenhouse  were  the 
first  to  arrive.  They  met  on  the  threshold,  and  no  sooner 
had  they  alighted  than  the  hall  door  opened  of  itself.  A 
shining  device  pointed  the  way  to  the  cloak-room.  There 
were  no  servants  to  be  seen.  Jeffrey  and  Cadenhouse 
lingered  a  little  in  the  cloak-room,  talking. 

*  This  gentleman  has  a  perfect  genius  for  mechanical 
contrivances,"  Cadenhouse  remarked. 

"  Yes,  he's  a  clever  fellow,"  Jeffrey  rejoined.  "  Do 
you  know  anything  about  him  ?" 

"  He's  a  man  of  means,  I  believe,"  Cadenhouse  replied, 
with  his  usual  haughty  indifference. 

"  But  his  family — where  does  he  come  from  ?" 

"Ah,  that  I  do  not  know." 

"  Does  he  remind  you  of  any  one  ?" 

*  Now  you  mention  it,  yes.     His  voice  reminds  me — 
but  I  can't  think  of  what." 

"  It's  his  voice  that  puzzles  me,  too.  I  feel  as  if  I'd 
heard  that  voice  a  hundred  times.  He's  an  interesting 
fellow.  A  cad  if  you  like  ;  but  then  such  a  royal  cad, 
a  regular  eighteen-carat  cad  without  alloy.  I  suppose 
you  condone  that,  seeing  that  you  are  here." 

*  I  am  here  to-night  as  a  duty,"  said  Cadenhouse. 
*  Partly  for  political  purposes — he  is  to  stand  as  con- 
servative candidate,  you  know.     But  also  because  of  the 
approaching  marriage." 

"  Oh,  that  is  what  has  brought  you  down  from  your 
high  tower,  is  it  ?"  said  Jeffrey.  "And  quite  enough  too. 
I  have  the  very  strongest  objection  to  such  a  mesalliance. 
I  cannot  think  how  a  woman  of  position  like  Mrs.  King- 
constance  could  pick  up  with  that  sort  of  person." 

*  I  never  thought  about  it — I  was  really  indifferent/' 

436 


BABS      THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

said  Cadenhouse.  "  But  I  understand  now  that  feeling 
in  the  county  is  so  strongly  against  it  that,  if  he  persists 
— or  Mrs.  Kingconstance  persists — it  will  lose  him  the 
election.  And  it  is  believed  that  the  lady  will  be  the 
lesser  loss  of  the  two.  I  am  anxious  that  he  should  not 
persist,  because  I  think  him  the  best  man  for  political 
purposes  ;  and  also,  now  that  the  matter  has  been  repre- 
sented to  me,  I  do  see  objections  to  the  marriage." 

Mr.  Worringham  and  Squire  Normanton  completed 
the  party.  The  service  of  the  table  was  done  deftly  by 
strange  waiters.  The  dinner  was  superb — not  too  much 
in  quantity,  consequently  not  too  long  ;  and  most  ex- 
cellent in  quality.  Under  its  stimulating  influence, 
even  Cadenhouse's  habitual  haughty  reserve  melted 
into  something  like  geniality.  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney 
as  a  host  was  in  his  element.  The  certainty  that  he  was 
under  observation  did  not  embarrass  him,  but  rather 
gave  zest  to  the  part  he  was  playing.  His  imagination 
was  Oriental,  and  he  brought  it  to  bear  upon  all  his 
guests.  When  in  the  vein,  his  insight  was  infinite. 
Knowing,  as  he  did,  how  to  ingratiate  himself  with 
crowds  at  a  time,  it  was  mere  child's  play  to  him,  this 
party,  now  that  he  had  got  it  together.  The  difficulty 
had  been  to  get  them  together — the  much-loved  vicar, 
the  proud  recluse,  the  whiskeyfied  squire,  and  the  con- 
ventional society  man.  In  that  he  had  succeeded,  how- 
ever, and  now  it  but  remained  to  bind  them  to  him. 
With  these  men  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  he  would  have 
the  key  to  the  county. 

By  the  time  the  coffee  came  and  the  cigars,  he  was 
pretty  sure  of  them  all — sure,  at  least,  that  he  had 
pleased  them  as  an  entertainer  ;  but  before  they  left  the 
table  he  meant  to  make  a  bid  for  their  permanent  alle- 
giance. 

"  Instead  of  liqueurs,  I  propose  to  offer  you  a  little 
concoction  of  my  own  with  your  coffee/'  he  said.  "  It 

437 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

is  really  rather  nice.     Mr.  Worringham,  I  appeal  to 
you." 

The  vicar's  eyes  brightened. 

"  Are  you  alluding  to  that  delicious  cordial  you  gave 
me  once — and  only  once  ?  Why,  it  was — it  was  nectar !" 

"  So  glad  you  liked  it,"  said  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney. 

On  the  table  before  him  were  some  crystal  goblets, 
and  the  exquisite  little  decanters  which  had  played  such 
an  important  part  in  the  subjugation  of  Mrs.  Kingcon- 
stance. 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  began  to  manipulate  the  de- 
canters. 

"  I  don't  talk  or  encourage  talking  when  I  am  doing 
this,"  he  said,  "  for  fear  of  making  mistakes.  A  drop 
too  much  makes  all  the  difference." 

He  talked,  nevertheless,  the  whole  time,  keeping  up 
a  monotonous  monologue  to  which  his  guests  found 
themselves  obliged  to  listen  in  silence.  They  sat  watch- 
ing him,  with  their  eyes  fixed  upon  the  shining  goblets  ; 
and  the  longer  they  gazed  the  more  fascinated  they  be- 
came. A  gentle  apathy  stole  over  them,  a  sense  of 
soothing  which  seemed  to  be  the  effect  of  the  monoto- 
nous monologue. 

It  was  a  long  business.  Drop  by  drop  Mr.  Jellybond 
Tinney  distilled  the  mixture,  and  every  drop  he  added 
altered  the  tint  a  trifle,  so  that  the  liquid  passed  by  slight 
gradations  through  exquisite  gem-like  shades  of  trans- 
parent color  ;  but  when  at  last  he  handed  them  their 
glasses  it  looked  like  watered  milk. 

Simultaneously  they  raised  their  glasses  and  sipped. 
The  effect  of  the  first  sip  on  Jeffrey  and  Cadenhouse  was 
identical.  They  instantly  raised  their  glasses  again, 
and  tasted  the  draught  as  men  do  who  think  there  is 
something  to  question.  They  exchanged  glances.  Mr. 
Jellybond  Tinney  looked  smilingly  at  them.  He  was 
busy  mixing  another  supply. 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Drink,  gentlemen/'  he  said.  "  The  effect  is  spoiled 
if  you  sip." 

All  drank.  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney's  countenance  be- 
trayed some  inward  satisfaction. 

"  Your  glasses,  gentlemen/'  he  said,  after  a  little  pause. 
It  was  noticeable  that  the  new  brew  had  been  mixed  in 
less  than  a  third  the  time  it  had  taken  to  concoct  the 
other. 

Dreamily  the  gentlemen  handed  him  their  glasses. 
Again  he  rilled  them  with  the  delicious  mixture.  It  was 
the  color  of  a  fire  opal  by  this  time. 

"  Now  sip,"  he  said. 

When  they  had  done  so,  each  man  sat  silently  look- 
ing into  his  glass,  with  sensuous  satisfaction  on  his  face. 

"  I've  done  all  this  before,"  Cadenhouse  suddenly  ex- 
claimed. 

"  So  have  I,"  said  Jeffrey — "  not  once,  but  many 
times." 

"  Faith,  I  wish  I  had,"  murmured  the  squire. 

"  My  second  experience,"  the  vicar  boasted. 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  glanced  slowly  round  the  table, 
and,  as  his  eye  fell  upon  each  in  turn,  each  found  him- 
self suffused  with  a  singular  respect  for  him.  Caden- 
house was  the  last  to  come  under  his  control ;  but  finally 
he  too  fell  like  the  rest. 

Late  that  night  Guy  Spice  went  out  for  an  airing  be- 
fore he  retired  to  rest.  He  was  loitering  along,  smoking 
his  pipe  and  enjoying  the  lovely  night,  when  all  at  once 
he  saw  a  sight  which  caused  him  to  stop  short  and  stand 
and  stare  like  one  transfixed. 

By  the  light  of  the  moon,  which  was  at  the  full,  he 
saw  approaching  down  the  broad  high-road,  arm-in- 
arm,  five  gentlemen  in  evening  dress.  They  were  danc- 
ing. Three  steps  to  the  right  they  took,  then  three  steps 
to  the  left ;  three  steps  forward  ;  a  momentary  pause  to 

439 


BABS      THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

throw  up  the  right  leg,  then  off  again.    And  all  with  the 
most  perfect  gravity,  all  in  the  most  absolute  silence. 

As  they  passed  him  he  recognized  them  ;  but  only 
one  of  them  took  the  slightest  notice  of  him,  the  tall  one 
in  the  middle,  upon  whose  will  the  other  four  hung  by 
their  arms,  two  on  each  side,  in  helpless  dependence. 
And  that  one  joined  in  the  shout  of  laughter  with  which 
Guy  Spice  signified  his  appreciation  of  the  performance. 

440 


CHAPTER    XLVII 

THE  day  after  it   had   been  announced  that  Mr. 
Jellybond  Tinney  was  to  stand  for  the  county 
in  the  conservative  interest,  every  hoarding  was 
placarded  with  the  question  :  "  Who's  Tinney 
Binks  ?" 

"  Who  is  Tinney  Binks  ?"  everybody  asked. 
After  an  interval  the  reply  appeared  everywhere,  on 
hand-bills  and  hoardings,  gorgeously  displayed. 

TINNEY  BINKS  !  1 1 

THE  MOST  VERSATILE  ENTERTAINER  OF  HIS  DAY, 
THE  GREAT  MESMERIST  !    ILLUSIONIST  1   MIXER  OF 

DRINKS  1 

THAT  IS  YOUR  CONSERVATIVE  CANDIDATE.     VOTE 
FOR  THE  RADICAL. 

"  It  is  false,"  cried  Mrs.  Kingconstance,  wringing  her 
hands.  "  Say,  oh,  say  that  it  is  a  slander,"  she  implored. 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  smiled  enigmatically.  He  had 
brought  her  the  hand-bill  himself.  He  was  quite  se- 
rene. 

*  You  will  come,  as  you  promised,  to  hear  my  election 
address,"  he  replied.  "  You  shall  be  satisfied,  that  I 
undertake.  I  will  explain  all — all.  And  then  I  will 
leave  it  to  you,  my  dear  lady,  to  pronounce  sentence 
upon  me." 

441 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

The  Great  Hall  in  the  county  town,  seventeen  miles 
from  Danehurst,  had  been  taken  on  the  occasion  of  Mr. 
Jellybond  Tinney's  election  address  to  his  constituents. 
It  held  several  thousands  of  people  and  was  crammed.  A 
small  gallery  in  a  conspicuous  position  had  been  reserved 
for  the  candidate's  friends.  The  candidate's  friends 
were  all  ladies.  Conspicuous  among  them,  in  the 
front  row,  were  Mrs.  Kingconstance  and  the  witch  from 
Thorne  Lodge.  Mrs.  Kingconstance  was  beautifully 
dressed,  as  was  her  wont ;  and  so  also  was  the  witch,  but 
not  according  to  her  wont.  Ordinarily  she  dressed  like  a 
woman  of  the  people ;  but  that  day  her  black  costume 
was  of  silk,  satin,  and  lace,  made  in  the  most  perfect 
taste,  and  admirably  suited  to  her  slender  upright  figure 
and  dark  handsome  face.  She  wore  it  with  the  ease  and 
grace  of  one  accustomed  to  such  clothes.  Her  striking 
personality  immediately  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
crowd.  People  all  over  the  hall  were  asking  each  other 
who  she  was.  There  was  no  self-consciousness  in  her 
attitude,  no  restlessness.  She  held  a  fan  in  her  hand, 
but  did  not  use  it.  She  looked  about  her  with  intelli- 
gent interest,  her  dark  eyes  steady,  her  composure  per- 
fect ;  and  only  two  bright  spots  of  color  on  either  cheek 
betrayed  the  emotion  which  was  working  within.  Babs, 
who  had  come  for  the  pleasure  of  gazing  at  Cadenhouse, 
recognized  her  at  once.  Mrs.  Kingconstance  was  too 
excited  to  see  anybody.  Her  demeanor  was  as  agitated 
as  the  other  woman's  was  composed.  She  could  not 
keep  still  a  moment.  She  jerked  disconnected  remarks 
from  one  acquaintance  to  another,  but  did  not  attend 
to  their  answers.  Her  fan  fluttered  perpetually.  She 
was  really  in  a  pitiable  state  of  nerves. 

Babs  and  Julia  sat  side  by  side — Julia  radiantly  self- 
satisfied,  proud,  and  composed  ;  Babs  concealing  the 
great  gnawing  ache  at  her  heart  by  a  brave  show  of  calm 
indifference.  The  exquisite  sweetness  of  her  angelic 

442 


BARS      THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

little  face  was  heightened  by  its  transparent  pallor  and 
the  bright  fair  hair  that  framed  it.  "  Lily  and  Rose  " 
the  people  called  them,  and  the  Rose  was  the  most  ad- 
mired of  the  multitude. 

Miss  Kingconstance  was  also  in  the  front  row,  and  she, 
too,  was  radiant.  As  she  was  leaving  the  house,  one  of 
Cadenhouse's  servants  had  ridden  up  with  a  letter  for  her. 
Mrs.  Kingconstance  had  begged  her  to  read  it  when  they 
were  settled  in  the  carriage,  but  she  had  feigned  indiffer- 
ence. For  the  rest  of  the  day,  however,  the  conscious- 
ness of  that  little  letter  in  her  pocket  made  her  glad. 

"  Oh,  dear  !  how  much  longer  are  we  to  be  kept  wait- 
ing ?"  Mrs.  Kingconstance  exclaimed  from  time  to  time, 
petulantly. 

"  Isn't  it  thrilling  ?"  said  Julia. 

The  audience  was  becoming  impatient.  Witticisms 
of  a  broad  kind  were  being  bandied  about,  scraps  of 
popular  songs  were  sung.  Now  and  then  somebody  had 
to  be  marched  out  for  disorderly  conduct,  which  created 
a  little  diversion.  There  were  thundering  discharges  of 
Kentish  fire,  varied  by  frantic  clapping  of  hands.  An 
agitated  official  appeared  on  the  platform  with  some 
papers  which  he  laid  on  the  table.  He  was  warmly 
greeted,  and  much  complimented  upon  his  pate,  which 
was  remarkably  bald.  At  last  the  word  went  about 
"  They're  coming !"  and  a  hush  of  expectation  fell  upon 
the  crowd.  In  the  ladies'  gallery  hearts  beat  high.  Miss 
Spice  jumped  up  in  her  excitement  and  then  plumped 
down  again.  Mrs.  Normanton's  ample  person  was 
shaken  with  shivers  of  expectation.  Fanny  Sturdy 
and  Florence  Japp  held  each  other's  hands.  Lady 
May's  thin  lips  were  tightly  set,  and  Mrs.  Japp's  emo- 
tion betrayed  itself  in  the  pressure  of  her  hand  upon 
her  heart.  The  witch  of  Thorne  Lodge  alone  was 
normally  calm. 

The  chairman  entered  first  and  took  his  seat.  He  was 

443 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

followed  by  Cadenhouse,  Squire  Normanton,  Mr.  Wor- 
ringham,  Jeffrey  Wylde,  Montacute,  and  various  other 
county  magnates. 

When  they  were  all  seated,  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney 
entered  a  one. 

Instantly  there  was  a  wild  hubbub — applause,  cheers, 
shouts,  groans,  hisses. 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  came  forward  to  the  front  of  the 
platform,  bowed  to  the  audience,  bowed  also  to  the  ladies' 
gallery,  and  then  retired  to  the  table,  and  sat  down  be- 
side the  chairman. 

His  platform  manner  was  perfect;  nobody  there  had 
ever  seen  him  to  better  advantage.  All  his  movements 
were  easy,  and  he  was  exceedingly  well  dressed,  and 
quietly,  with  the  exception  of  one  eccentric  touch.  From 
his  watch-chain  dangled  a  large  gem,  which  flashed 
forth  liquid  light  in  rainbow  tints  at  every  movement. 
The  attention  of  numbers  of  people  became  riveted  upon 
this  shining  object  ;  and  indeed  it  seemed  to  have  a 
great  attraction  even  for  those  who  escaped  its  special 
fascination,  for  their  eyes  sought  it  continually. 

"  He's  a  fine  man,  anyhow,"  was  the  frequently  ex- 
pressed opinion  of  the  women  in  the  body  of  the  hall, 
and  the  same  sentiment  exhaled  in  stifled  sighs  in  the 
ladies'  gallery. 

The  chairman  arose,  and  the  preliminaries  were  gone 
through.  They  were  not  tediously  long  ;  everybody 
was  only  too  anxious  to  get  to  the  great  business  of  the 
day. 

Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  was  half-way  through  his  ad- 
dress before  Mrs.  Kingconstance  heard  a  word  of  it. 
Fortunately  for  him  even  his  political  opponents  were 
anxious  to  hear  what  he  had  to  say  for  himself.  To 
secure  a  hearing  was  all  that  he  asked.  If  only  they 
would  listen  he  felt  sure  of  winning  the  day. 

He  began  slowly,  and  every  rounded  word  rolled  out 

444 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

clear  and  distinct  to  the  farthest  extremity  of  the  crowded 
hall.  His  voice  was  not  only  fine  in  itself  and  cultivated, 
but  finely  managed.  There  was  no  sign  of  effort ;  he 
was  evidently  a  practised  speaker,  and  his  whole  address 
was  a  fine  oratorical  success. 

The  moment  he  began  Cadenhouse  was  reminded  of 
his  dream  that  night  up  in  the  high  tower — the  dream 
which  had  preceded  Babs's  first  escapade. 

Jeffrey  leaned  over  to  him  and  whispered  :  "  Binks,  of 
course  !" 

*  Of  course,"  said  Cadenhouse.     *  Without  his  beard." 

"And  he'll  carry  the  day,"  said  Jeffrey,  "  if  he  can 
make  them  forgive  him  for  being  Binks." 

"  I  should  say  he'd  make  them  proud  of  him  for  being 
Binks,"  said  Cadenhouse. 

The  first  words  Mrs.  Kingconstance  clearly  under- 
stood were  bawled  at  the  platform  in  a  stentorian  voice 
by  one  of  the  audience  :  *  Who's  Tinney  Binks  ?" 

"  Who  is  Tinney  Binks  ?"  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney  an- 
swered, instantly.  "  I  propose  to  tell  you.  In  fact,  I 
came  here  on  purpose  to  tell  you  (hear,  hear).  I  assure 
you  that  Tinney  Binks  never  has  had  and  never  will 
have  any  reason  to  be  ashamed  of  his  name."  (  "Oh  I 
oh !"  groans,  cheers,  and  a  question  :  "  Why  did  he  drop 
it,  then  ?")  "  For  his  own  convenience.  He  took  an- 
other name,  as  he  had  every  right  to  do.  It's  a  free 
country  (cheers).  But  you  don't  go  far  enough  back 
when  you  ask  :  '  Who's  Tinney  Binks  ?'  You  should 
ask  first :  '  Who  was  Tinney  Binks  ?'  Tinney  Binks 
was  my  father.  He  was  a  respectable  man  (cheers). 
He  married  a  respectable  woman  (cheers).  But  his 
name  was  not  Tinney.  Tinney  was  a  nickname  they 
gave  him  because  he  was  a  tinker — an  itinerant  tinker 
who  went  about  mending  pots  and  pans  all  over  the 
country.  I'm  proud  to  say  he  was  an  honest  man. 
Wherever  he  went  they  were  glad  to  see  him  again  ;  and 

445 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

never  a  key  was  turned  in  a  lock  because  he  was  about." 
("  That's  trite.  I  mind  him,  well"  from  an  old  farmer,  and 
loud  cheers.)  "  His  name  was  not  Tinney,  I  repeat ; 
but  mine  is.  I'm  his  only  child  "  ("  Not  a  bad  specimen  "), 
"  and  he  had  me  christened  Tinney  to  show  that  he  had 
no  reason  to  be  ashamed  of  the  name.  He  started  me 
in  life  with  that  name,  and  this  piece  of  advice  :  '  Be 
an  honest  man/  he  said  ;  '  tell  the  truth  and  shame  the 
devil '  (loud  cheers).  That  was  the  fortune  he  left  me, 
ladies  and  gentlemen ;  and  that  is  the  fortune  which 
has  landed  me  here  to-day — with  lots  of  tin  of  my  own, 
honorably  earned  (cheer -s);  with  the  respect,  I  venture 
to  hope,  of  all  who  know  me.  For  if  I  had  not  deserved 
the  respect  of  all  who  know  me,  should  I  have  ventured 
to  come  forward  to-day  ?  Should  I  have  been  put  for- 
ward to-day  as  a  candidate  for  the  honor  of  representing 
you  in  Parliament  ?  (cheers,  hisses,  and  groans).  I  hear 
hisses  and  groans.  Now,  I  ask  these  gentlemen  who 
hiss  and  groan,  if  I  have  not  proved  myself  a  man  of 
some  capacity  ("  You  have  ");  and  if  it  isn't  better  to 
have  a  man  of  some  capacity  like  me,  who  knows  every 
grade  of  society  intimately,  the  good  and  the  bad  of 
them,  the  rights  and  the  wrongs  of  them — I  ask  you 
isn't  it  better  to  return  such  a  man,  a  sound,  practical 
man,  as  your  representative,  than  a  man  whose  experi- 
ence, whose  interests,  and  whose  sympathies  do  not  ex- 
tend beyond  the  little  set  in  which  he  was  born  ?  Search 
into  every  detail  of  my  career,  and  if  you  find  me  want- 
ing, don't  return  me.  How  have  I  lived  among  you 
here,  I  ask  you  ?"  (A  voice  :  "  Ask  the  ladies  !")  "  I  ask 
the  ladies  !" 

He  turned  and  bowed  to  the  gallery.  The  ladies  rose 
in  their  enthusiasm  with  one  accord,  and  waved  their 
handkerchiefs  frantically.  This  display  was  greeted 
with  prolonged  applause. 

The  gallant  gentleman  wiped  his  forehead. 

446 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  You  will  observe,"  he  proceeded,  "  that  the  flattering 
mark  of  confidence  with  which  the  ladies  have  greeted 
me  in  response  to  my  appeal  was  not  unanimous.  One 
lady  remained  neutral " — he  alluded  to  the  witch.  "  Why 
did  she  not  rise  ?  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  it  was  not 
because  she  has  no  confidence  in  me,  for  it  was  her  faith 
in  me,  her  influence,  her  help,  her  strength  of  character, 
and  her  tenacity  which  made  me  the  man  I  am,  and  final- 
ly landed  me  here.  Who  is  that  lady  ?  That  lady  is 
my  mother.  And  I  am  proud  of  her.  And  I  ask  every 
working-man  here  to-day,  haven't  I  a  right  to  be  proud 
of  her  ?"  (Hundreds  of  voices  :  "  You  have,  sir  !") 

"  Well,  my  lords,  ladies,  and  gentlemen,  having  made 
my  fortune,  I  took  the  name  of  Capell  Augustus  Jelly- 
bond  Tinney,  as  I  had  every  right  to  do.  I  kept  the 
Tinney,  you  see,  for  my  dear  old  dad's  sake  (loud  cheers). 
And  I  came  here.  Do  you  know  why  I  came  here  ? 
Because  it  was  my  native  place,  and  I  had  made  up  my 
mind  that  I  would  crown  my  career  as  I  am  crowning 
it  to-day.  I  wanted  to  show  every  working-man  here 
what  a  man  may  do  for  himself  in  a  free  country  (loud 
cheers).  I  have  been  received  as  an  equal  everywhere, 
as  an  honest  man  should.  I  have  tried  to  spend  my 
money  like  a  gentleman."  (A  voice  :  "  You-  have  I") 
"  I  hope  that  I  have  won  the  best,  the  most  beautiful, 
the  most  distinguished  lady  in  the  county." 

He  bowed  to  the  ladies'  gallery.  During  moments  like 
these,  when  the  multitude  is  moved,  the  humanities  are 
about,  and  there  is  great  levelling  of  classes.  To  every- 
body's astonishment,  Mrs.  Kingconstance  rose  to  the  oc- 
casion in  every  sense  of  the  word.  She  carried  a  great 
bunch  of  roses  tied  with  the  candidate's  colors,  and  when 
he  bowed  to  her,  she  arose,  leaned  over  the  rail,  and 
threw  him  the  flowers.  He  bowed  low,  with  evident 
emotion.  His  mother  got  up  at  the  same  time,  and  the 
two  ladies  shook  hands  in  full  view  of  the  crowd  amid 

447 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

resounding  cheers.  Many  people  wiped  their  eyes,  and 
expressed  their  opinions  that  it  were  "  better  nor  any 
play  they'd  ever  seen." 

"  My  lords,  ladies,  and  gentlemen,"  Mr.  Jellybond 
Tinney  resumed,  in  a  voice  vibrating  with  emotion,  "  I 
feel  myself  honored  above  all  men.  Only  one  thing 
is  now  wanted  to  crown  my  career  right  royally,  and  that 
I  look  to  you  to  bestow.  If  you  believe  in  me  you  will 
make  me  member  for  this  constituency ;  and  thereby 
you  will  prove  to  me  and  to  the  world  that  you  admire 
my  conduct,  rejoice  in  my  success,  and  approve  of  the 
example  I  have  set  you." 

Prolonged  cheers  and  shouts  of  "  For  he's  a  jolly  good 
fellow  1"  greeted  the  conclusion  of  the  address.  Mr. 
Jellybond  Tinney's  mother  was  seen  to  wipe  her  eyes. 
This  was  the  first  symptom  of  weakness  she  had  be- 
trayed. Standing  beside  Mrs.  Kingconstance  during 
the  handshaking  and  congratulations  which  followed, 
she  bore  herself  with  simple  dignity.  It  was  only  then 
that  Mrs.  Kingconstance  recognized  her. 

"  Dear  me  1"  she  exclaimed.  "  It  really  is  you.  Well, 
how  nice !  Oh,  those  dear,  dear  days  !  And  the  lunch- 
eons and  the  little  dishes,  and  the  coffee  " — her  voice 
sank  to  a  playful  whisper — "  the  cordial  and  the  cig- 
arettes !  You  really  are  a  dear,  and  so  handsome,  too  1 
And  you  are  going  to  be  my  mother-in-law.  Well,  how 
nice  !" 

Little  Miss  Spice  came  perking  up,  head  bobbing, 
curls  twining  and  untwining,  all  a  nutter  of  feeling. 

"  I  congratulate  you,"  she  cried,  clasping  Mrs.  King- 
constance's  hand  convulsively.  "  And  you,  too,  mad- 
am—  his  mother!"  She  pressed  her  handkerchief  to 
her  eyes.  "  Oh,  what  a  man  1"  she  added.  "  What  a 
noble  man  1" 

448 


CHAPTER     XL  VI  II 

IMMEDIATELY  after  the  election,  Jeffrey  went  to  see 
Cadenhouse,  and  found  him  in  his  tower.  They 
began  to  talk  about  Binks,  who  had  been  returned 
in  triumph  by  an  overwhelming  majority. 

"  I  knew  he'd  succeed  the  moment  I  recognized  him," 
Jeffrey  remarked.  "  Binks's  influence  on  an  audience 
is  magnetic.  Read  his  speeches,  and  you  find  nothing 
in  them ;  listen  to  them,  and  you  are  all  aglow.  You 
remember  that  night  in  London  when  I  took  you  to  hear 
him  and  drink  Soul  Revivers  ? — you  remember  how  the 
people  gazed  at  him  ?  Once  he  caught  their  attention 
and  riveted  their  gaze,  he  could  do  anything  he  liked  with 
them." 

"  By  the  way,  how  did  that  night  end  ?"  Cadenhouse 
asked. 

Jeffrey  laughed. 

"  How  did  the  other  night  end  ?"  he  rejoined. 

"  I  haven't  the  remotest  idea,"  said  Cadenhouse. 

"  Neither  have  I,"  said  Jeffrey  ;  "  neither  has  any- 
body, I'll  bet,  but  Binks  himself.  Yet  I  am  morally  con- 
vinced that  that  cordial  is  an  illusion — at  least  the  effect 
of  it  is.  If  the  liquor  were  as  strong  as  it  appears  to  be, 
the  reaction  would  be  unpleasant.  But  there  is  no  re- 
action from  it,  no  after-effect." 

"  So  I  observed.     Yet  I  don't  see  how  it  acts." 

"  Plucky  of  the  widow,  wasn't  it,  to  stand  by  him  ?" 
Jeff.  /  remarked. 

2F  449 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  Er — yes,  I  suppose  so,"  said  Cadenhouse.  "  But  I — 
er — dislike  that  sort  of  display  myself." 

"  It's  theatrical,  of  course.  By  the  way " — he  took 
out  his  note-book — "  I'm  interested  in  a  theatre  a  friend 
of  mine  is  running.  I'll  just  make  a  note  of  that  inci- 
dent ;  it  might  be  useful  to  him." 

When  he  had  jotted  down  the  note,  he  turned  over  the 
leaves  of  the  book,  and  showed  Cadenhouse  a  page  on 
which  were  words  and  lines. 

"  Can  you  make  that  out  ?"  he  asked. 

Cadenhouse  could  make  nothing  of  it. 

"  That  is  meant  for  Babs,"  Jeffrey  explained,  "  asleep 
under  a  tree — you  know  the  spot.  That's  meant  for  the 
river.  I  found  her  there,  fast  asleep,  and  such  a  picture  ! 
I  thought  it  would  make  a  good  set.  By  the  way,  you 
are  on  very  good  terms  with  Babs,  are  you  not  ?" 

"  I  have  known  her  all  her  life/'  Cadenhouse  answered, 
stiffly. 

"  She's  a  pickle,  or  I'm  much  mistaken." 

"  Babs  is  erratic,"  Cadenhouse  answered — "  or  rather 
she  used  to  be  erratic  as  a  child.  She  is  older  now,  and 
knows  better." 

"Erratic  do  you  call  it !"  said  Jeffrey,  in  a  tone  which 
was  indescribably  offensive  to  Cadenhouse. 

"  You  are  not  speaking  slightingly  of  Babs,  I  pre- 
sume ?"  he  said. 

"  Not  if  your  intentions  are  serious,"  Jeffrey  answered, 
laughing. 

"  I  do  not  in  the  least  understand  you/'  Cadenhouse 
rejoined. 

Jeffrey  laughed  again. 

A  servant  came  in  at  the  moment  with  a  letter.  Caden- 
house took  it  from  him,  and  held  it  in  his  hand  unopened. 

"  Don't  be  an  old  humbug,"  Jeffrey  said,  when  they 
were  alone  again.  "  From  something  she  let  fall,  I  feel 
sure  you  know  Miss  Babs  a  lot  better  than  you  pretend." 

450 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  I  know  nothing  in  the  least  to  her  discredit/'  said 
Cadenhouse,  much  annoyed.  "  And,  what  is  more,  I  am 
sure  she  is  incapable  of  doing  anything  in  the  least  dis- 
creditable." 

As  the  words  left  his  lips,  the  door  opened,  and  Babs 
the  Impossible  walked  in. 

She  walked  in  with  the  easy  air  of  one  who  is  at  home 
in  the  place. 

When  she  saw  the  gentlemen,  she  stopped  short. 

For  a  few  seconds  Jeffrey  Wylde  looked  hard  at  Caden- 
house, with  a  cynical  smile  on  his  face  ;  then  he  turned 
on  his  heel  and  left  them  together,  without  so  much  as 
another  glance  at  Babs. 

"  Why  is  Jeffrey  rude  to  me  ?"  she  demanded. 

"  Because  you  are  here,"  Cadenhouse  groaned,  clinch- 
ing his  nervous  hand  till  the  knuckles  whitened. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  for  being  here,  Cadenhouse," 
Babs  began.  "  I  heard  you  had  gone  away.  Ally  Spice 
saw  your  omnibus  with  a  lot  of  luggage  on  it  pass  on  the 
way  to  the  station — " 

"  Some  guests  were  going,"  said  Cadenhouse. 

"And  I  was  roaming  about  this  afternoon  without  in- 
tention, and  came  to  the  tower,"  she  pursued  ;  "  and  the 
door  was  open,  and  the  impulse  seized  me  on  a  sudden  to 
run  up — as  you  were  away — to  run  up  for  a  last  look. 
I've  been  up  to  the  top  of  the  tower — not  into  the  second 
stage,  though  the  door  was  unlocked.  You  said  you 
would  show  me  that  yourself  some  day,  and  unless  you 
show  me  it  yourself,  I  do  not  care  to  see  it — now.  I've 
been  up  to  the  top  of  the  tower,  looking  down  at  the  peace- 
ful land,  and  at  the  sea  ;  all  is  so  quiet,  so  infinitely 
calm,  out  there — such  a  contrast  to  the  terrible  turmoil 
here  " — she  clasped  her  hands  to  her  heart.  "  Caden- 
house, I've  made  a  mess  of  my  life  somehow.  Every- 
thing has  gone  wrong  with  me.  I  don't  know  what  I've 
done,  but  all  the  people  about  avoid  me.  Just  now,  down 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

there  on  the  road,  Meg  Normanton  and  her  sister  crossed 
over,  so  as  not  to  have  to  speak  to  me  ;  and  Lady  May, 
passing  in  her  carriage,  turned  her  head  aside  ;  and  the 
other  day  Squire  Normanton  met  me  and  nodded  fa- 
miliarly, without  taking  his  hat  off.  What  have  I  done  ? 
What  have  I  done  ?  I  seem  to  have  lost  caste  utterly. 
Nothing  has  gone  right  with  me  since  you  deserted 
me." 

"  Since  I  deserted  you,  Babs  \"  Cadenhouse  exclaimed. 
"  You  sent  me  away." 

Babs  shrugged  her  shoulders  expressively.  Caden- 
house's  countenance  had  contracted.  He  played  ner- 
vously with  the  letter,  which  he  still  held  in  his  hand. 

"  Pray  open  that  letter,"  Babs  said,  bitterly.  "  I  see 
you  are  more  interested  in  it  than  in  me." 

"  I  must  open  this  letter,  Babs,"  Cadenhouse  answered. 
"But,  believe  me,  I  mean  you  no  discourtesy — and  no 
unkindness  either,  Heaven  knows !  I  had  no  idea  you — 
you-" 

He  broke  off,  and  tore  the  letter  open.  As  he  read, 
his  hand  trembled  and  the  color  left  his  face. 

"  Bad  news,  I'm  afraid,"  Babs  exclaimed,  with  con- 
cern in  her  voice. 

Slowly  he  folded  the  letter,  and  slowly  he  returned  it  to 
its  envelope.  He  looked  like  one  sore  stricken. 

"  Babs,"  he  said,  "  I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you  at  once. 
I  had  no  suspicion  that  you — that  I — that  your  decision 
was  not  necessarily  final.  And  now  I  am  bound  in 
honor  to  marry  your  aunt." 

"  My  aunt  1"  she  cried,  aghast.  "  You  are  going  to 
marry  Aunt  Lorraine  !" 

"  I  am,"  he  said.     "  This  letter  settles  it." 

They  gazed  a  moment  into  each  other's  eyes.  Babs 
made  as  if  she  would  have  said  something,  but  her  voice 
failed  her.  Cadenhouse  was  just  in  time  to  save  her 
from  falling.  He  made  her  sit  down,  he  put  some  water 

452 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

beside  her  ;  then  hurriedly,  as  if  he  could  not  trust  him- 
self, he  did  what  he  thought  was  best  under  the  circum- 
stances he  left  her  alone. 

It  was  late  when  Babs  left  the  tower.  A  close  carriage 
was  waiting  for  her.  She  understood  it  was  for  her,  be- 
cause the  footman  opened  the  door  when  she  appeared. 
She  looked  perfectly  calm  and  collected,  but  she  felt  like 
one  in  deadly  peril,  whose  every  faculty  is  on  the  alert. 
There  was  something  to  be  done ;  she  knew  that  there 
was  something  to  be  done — but  what  ?  As  she  drove 
through  the  country  lanes  her  mind  pursued  the  vague 
idea,  but  could  not  grasp  it. 

Arrived  at  Dane  Court,  she  was  going  straight  up  to 
her  own  room,  but  she  had  to  pass  her  aunt's  room  on  the 
way.  The  door  was  wide  open.  Babs  stopped.  The 
room  was  brilliantly  lighted,  and  Miss  Kingconstance 
was  standing  in  the  middle  of  it.  She  greeted  Babs 
with  a  radiant  smile.  In  her  costume  of  white  brocade, 
her  pearls  and  her  diamonds,  she  looked  like  a  bride 
elect. 

"  She  expects  him  to-night,"  flashed  into  Babs's  mind, 
and  sudden  rage  seized  upon  her. 

She  went  up  to  her  aunt,  and  dropped  her  a  courtesy. 

"  Good-evening,  Marchioness  of  Cadenhouse,"  she  said. 
"  I  congratulate  you." 

"  Oh,  Babs,  don't,"  Miss  Kingconstance  exclaimed, 
the  light  going  out  of  her  countenance — "  don't  call  me 
that  yet.  Don't  you  know  it's  unlucky  ?  But — who 
told  you  ?" 

The  light  returned  to  the  lady's  face.  Babs  was  look- 
ing at  her  curiously.  For  the  first  time  she  appreciated 
her  aunt's  good  looks,  and  she  suffered  a  cruel  pang. 

"  Who  told  me  ?"  she  said.  "  Why,  he  did,  of  course. 
I  was  there  when  he  read  your  letter." 

"There — where?"  Miss  Kingconstance  asked,  bewil- 
dered. 

453 


BARS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

"  In  the  tower." 

"  In  the  tower — alone — with  Cadenhouse  !" 

Babs  hastened  to  explain.  There  was  nothing  mean 
in  her  nature  ;  she  was  all  for  fair  fight. 

"  You  saw  him  read  the  letter  ?"  Miss  Kingconstance 
said. 

"  Yes." 

"  How  did  he  take  it  ?    Did  he  look  happy  ?" 

"Anything  but,"  said  Babs. 

"  Babs  !  are  you  telling  me  the  truth  ?"  Miss  King- 
constance cried. 

"  I  am  telling  you  the  truth/'  Babs  answered,  pitilessly. 
"Are  you  under  the  impression  that  he  loves  you  ?  I 
tell  you  he  does  not  love  you.  It  will  be  a  marriage  of 
intellect,  a  case  of  intellectual  compatibility — ugh ! 
You  may  be  the  love  of  his  intellect,  if  you  like ;  but  I — 
I  am  the  love  of  his  heart.  He  loved  me  first ;  he  loves 
me  still.  Didn't  he  tell  you  we  were  once  engaged  ? 
He  will  always  be  a  gentleman  with  you  ;  he's  a  man 
with  me.  He'll  never  kiss  you  as  he  has  kissed  me — no  ! 
no  !  no  !  never  !  I'd  kill  him  if  he  dared." 

"  Babs,  you  are  killing  me." 

Miss  Kingconstance  sank  into  a  chair,  gasping,  her 
hand  pressed  to  her  heart. 

"  You  don't  love  him,  either,  Aunt  Lorraine/'  Babs 
persisted ;  "  you  don't  love  him  as  I  do." 

"  Babs,  have  pity  !"  Miss  Kingconstance  implored. 
"  You  will  have  a  hundred  chances  of  happiness.  This 
is  my  only  one." 

The  pathetic  simplicity  of  this  appeal  released  Babs's 
better  nature.  Self  was  set  aside.  She  saw  the  other 
woman,  down  the  long  vista  of  the  coming  years,  walk- 
ing alone.  Babs  wrung  her  hands. 

"  Aunt  Lorraine,"  she  said,  in  a  broken  voice,  "  I  don't 
want  to  spoil  your  happiness.  If  I  had  not  seen  you 
here  to-night,  mocking  my  misery  with  your  radiant 

454 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

face,  I  should  have  held  my  peace,  you  would  never 
have  known.  And,  after  all,  what  is  there  to  be  done 
now  ?  He  is  in  honor  bound  to  marry  you.  He  said 
so  himself." 

"  He  said  that,  did  he  ?"  Miss  Kingconstance  muttered. 

Her  face  had  grown  haggard  and  worn  and  old  since 
Babs  began,  and  the  girl's  own  little  suffering  heart  was 
torn  with  compunction.  She  knelt  down  beside  her 
aunt  and  laid  her  head  upon  her  lap.  Miss  Kingcon- 
stance could  not  see  her  face. 

"  I've  been  talking  wildly,"  Babs  began.  "  Forgive 
me — and  forget  what  I  said.  It's  like  this,  Aunt  Lor- 
raine. I  love  Cadenhouse  with  all  my  heart,  and  Caden- 
house  is  going  to  marry  you ;  and  for  a  moment  I  was 
mad  with  jealousy.  Now  I  am  myself  again.  As  you 
say,  I  shall  have  other  chances  of  happiness.  There  is 
Sir  Owen.  Don't  expect  me  to  kiss  you  and  be  glad  just 
yet.  It  will  be  a  day  or  two  before  I  can  make  merry  on 
the  subject,  but — " 

Miss  Kingconstance  laid  her  slender  hand  on  her 
niece's  head  ;  tears  were  streaming  from  her  eyes. 

"  Don't  distress  yourself,  Babs,"  she  said.  "  I  under- 
stand you.  I  think  I  have  always  understood  you  better 
than  any  one  else." 

"  You  have  always  been  good  to  me — " 

"  Be  good  to  me  now,  then,  Babs.  This — all  this — 
has  been  very  bitter.  It  has  come  upon  me  unawares — " 

"  But  it  is  over,"  Babs  put  in  quickly.  "  I  shall  not 
come  between  you  and  your  happiness ;  give  me  that 
assurance,  at  least,  for  my  comfort." 

She  rose  to  her  feet  as  she  spoke.  Miss  Kingcon- 
stance also  rose.  For  a  moment  they  held  each  other's 
hands  ;  then  Babs  went  quietly  from  the  room.  She 
left  her  aunt  sobbing  hysterically. 

Babs  did  not  appear  again  that  evening. 

After  dinner,  Cadenhouse  arrived,  as  in  duty  bound. 

455 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

He  thanked  Miss  Kingconstance  for  the  honor  she  had 
done  him.  He  took  her  hand.  On  second  thoughts  he 
kissed  it.  It  was  like  being  engaged  to  an  automaton. 

"  Do  you  wish  the  engagement  to  be  announced  at 
once  ?"  he  asked. 

"  No,  Cadenhouse,"  she  answered,  gently. 


CHAPTER     XLIX 

IT  had  been  finally  settled  that  Montacute  was  to 
spend  the  last  year  of  his  minority  in  globe-trot- 
ting, and  Guy  Spice  was  to  accompany  him. 
They  were  to  make  their  farewells  and  leave  for 
London  next  day.  The  day  after  they  were  to  embark 
at  Southampton  on  a  mail  steamer  bound  for  the 
East. 

Late  that  night  Montacute  was  sitting  in  the  library 
reading,  when  the  door  opened,  and  Babs,  still  in  her 
walking  dress,  came  in. 

"  Montacute,"  she  began,  breathlessly,  "  you  go  to- 
morrow morning.  Take  me  with  you.  For  Heaven's 
sake,  take  me  !" 

Montacute  put  a  marker  in  his  book  and  closed  it  de- 
liberately. Then  he  got  up. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Babs  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Cadenhouse  is  engaged  to  Aunt  Lorraine." 

Montacute  looked  at  his  sister  a  moment  inquiringly ; 
then  he  understood. 

"  Don't  ask  me  questions,"  she  pursued.  "  I  must 
get  away — I  must  get  away.  If  I'm  forced  to  stay  here 
I  can't  keep  sane." 

"  I've  no  wish  to  pry,"  he  answered  ;  "  but  could  you 
be  ready — you  and  Bertha  ?" 

"  Cute,  you're  a  real  gentleman  !"  Babs  exclaimed, 
smiling  a  little  herself  at  the  old  familiar  phrase  of  their 
childhood.  "  Yes,  we  can  both  be  ready.  We've  been 
packing  the  whole  evening.  I've  heaps  of  things.  You 

457 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

settle  it  with  mamma.     She'll  see  the  wisdom  of  any- 
thing that  leaves  her  alone  with  her  love  just  now." 

The  East  meant  St.  Lambert  to  Babs.  She  had  some 
vague  notion  that  if  only  she  could  see  him  comfort 
must  come  of  it.  But  that  hope  was  lightly  bereft  her 
by  Barbara  Land,  who  was  the  first  person  she  encoun- 
tered on  going  on  board  the  steamer.  Something  in 
Barbara's  countenance  made  Babs  think  of  her  Aunt 
Lorraine,  as  she  had  seen  her  look  for  a  moment  in  her 
jewels  and  white  brocade,  something  of  the  same  ra- 
diance, the  same  serene  content. 

"  You  look  as  if  you  were  going  to  be  married,"  Babs 
said. 

"  My  looks  do  not  belie  me,"  Barbara  answered,  smil- 
ing. 

"  Who  is  the  happy  man  ?" 

"  Can't  you  guess  ?" 

"  Not  Mr.  Jellybond  Tinney,  because  he  is  going  to 
marry  mamma.  No,  I  can't  guess." 

"  Owen  St.  Lambert,"  Barbara  said,  pronouncing  his 
very  name  as  if  she  loved  it. 

Babs  knew  that  she  would  not  have  married  him  her- 
self ;  nevertheless,  she  felt  as  if  she  had  lost  a  friend. 

She  strolled  forward,  found  a  deck-chair  for  herself, 
and  sat  apart,  her  young  face  turned  resolutely  from 
the  receding  shore. 

The  sun  shone  bright  upon  Southampton  Water. 
The  gray-green  waves  whitened  off  the  bows  of  the 
steamer.  Great  gulls,  with  beautiful  white  wings  ex- 
panded, hovered  in  her  wake.  Diaphanous  clouds 
softened  the  radiant  blue  of  the  sky  as  with  gossamer 
veils  ;  light  airs  played  upon  the  surface  of  the  sea,  and 
fluttered  the  flags,  and  fanned  the  face  caressingly  ; 
and  in  it  all — the  freshness  and  the  brightness  and  the 
speed — there  was  something  of  excitement. 

458 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

A  strange  silence  had  settled  upon  the  ship  since  she 
started — a  silence  which  seemed  to  enwrap  her,  so  that 
the  monotonous  throb  of  machinery,  the  wash  of  the 
water  and  whispers  of  the  wind,  sounded  extraneous 
and  muffled,  as  though  outside  of  the  ship,  above  and 
beyond  her. 

Babs,  sitting  there  alone,  looking  forward,  was  like 
one  in  a  waking  dream.  By  degrees  a  wonderful  sense 
of  exhilaration  seized  upon  her.  She  had  expected  to 
be  miserable,  but  instead  of  that,  as  the  steamer  fled  on- 
wards at  full  speed,  and  the  aspect  of  all  things  altered, 
as  the  shore  receded,  and  the  air  came  full-flavored  with 
the  salt  of  the  open  sea,  her  heart  expanded.  Physical 
energy  was  in  abeyance,  but  her  mind  was  curiously  on 
the  alert  ;  and  yet  not  her  mind  exactly,  but  rather  that 
further-reaching  faculty  which,  without  form,  is  "bodied 
forth — without  going  is  there — without  hearing  or  see- 
ing or  feeling,  knows.  All  kinds  of  queer,  irrelevant 
scraps  of  thought  presented  themselves,  and,  irrespec- 
tive of  her  will,  uninterrupted  by  reflection  or  observa- 
tion, into  her  mind  there  flashed  a  measure  of  words, 
and  there  persisted  : 

"Change  under  the  change-colored  arches 

Of  changeless  morning  and  night ; 
Change  under  the  change-colored  arches 
Of  changeless  morning  and  night" — 

she  sang  softly  in  herself  to  the  accompaniment  of  the 
throbbing  engines,  the  waves,  and  the  wind  ;  and,  as 
she  sang,  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  swaying  with 
the  swaying  of  the  ship,  and  flying  with  the  intermit- 
tent breeze,  and  floating  on  the  buoyant  sea. 

A  wave  went  by,  a  wave  that  would  break  at  the  foot 
of  the  cliff,  at  the  foot  of  the  tower,  near  enough  almost 
for  him  to  hear.  She  saw  him  sitting  there  alone  with  a 
book  on  his  knee,  calm,  cold,  and  determined  ;  a  man 

459 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

to  do  his  duty  without  flinching,  and  then  to  die  resigned. 
He  would  marry  her  aunt  if  need  be,  and  banish  Babs, 
even  from  his  mind — banish  her  as  though  he  had  for- 
gotten that  it  was  she  who  had  made  him  a  man.  As 
though  he  had  forgotten  ! — therein  was  her  joy,  for  she 
knew  that  he  could  not  forget. 

"Change  under  the  change-colored  arches 

Of  changeless  morning  and  night ; 
Change  under  the  change-colored  arches 
Of  changeless  morning  and  night." 

In  and  out  among  her  wandering  thoughts  the  song 
ran  on,  a  meaningless  measure  of  words  to  her,  yet,  be- 
cause of  the  measure,  potent  to  help. 

She  saw  the  tall  masts  mark  the  swaying  of  the  ship 
upon  the  sky ;  she  saw  the  swinging  cordage ;  she 
heard  the  wild  rush  of  the  water,  cloven  asunder  by  the 
mighty  bows  of  the  steamer  ;  she  heeded  the  creak  and 
jar  and  rattle  which  betrayed  the  pressure  and  strain  of 
full  speed.  But  to  notice  such  things  at  such  a  time 
seemed  trivial  to  Babs. 

"  I  have  no  soul,"  she  sighed.  Then,  brightening  : 
"  Have  I  no  soul  ?"  she  asked  herself. 

"Change  under  the  change-colored  arches 
Of  changeless  morning  and  night." 

"  Have  I,  indeed,  no  soul  ?"  she  exclaimed,  and  smiled 
incredulously. 

"Change  under  the  change-colored  arches 
Of  changeless  morning  and  night." 

Cadenhouse  had  told  her  once  that  the  soul  is  of  slow 
growth,  and  there  came  to  her  now  a  quotation  from  an 
Eastern  book  :  "  Follow  not  after  vanity,  nor  after  the 

460 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

enjoyment  of  love  and  lust.  He  who  is  earnest  and 
meditative  obtains  ample  joys." 

"  Does  he  ?"  she  asked  of  all  things ;  "  but  bliss  is 
twofold !" 

She  thought  of  Cadenhouse,  there,  in  his  tower  alone, 
looking  up  at  the  quiet  stars,  and  it  was  as  if  some  one 
said  to  her : 

"  Enter  thou  reverently  into  the  interests  of  his  life, 
and  thou  shalt  obtain  a  glimpse  of  his  soul,  and,  having 
seen,  thou  shalt  be  no  more  the  same  forever." 

But  she  turned  from  the  suggestion.  To  be  other 
than  she  was — no !  Change  might  bring  peace,  peace 
without  love.  Babs  chose  deliberately — love  without 
peace. 

("  Change  under  the  change-colored  arches 
Of  changeless  morning  and  night.") 

Scraps  of  conversation  she  had  had  at  odd  times  with 
Cadenhouse  recurred  to  her. 

"  We  know  everything,"  he  had  said  to  her  one  day. 
"  There  is  nothing  beyond  our  ken,  if  only  we  could  get 
at  the  knowledge  to  use  it." 

"  But  can  we  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  HOW  r 

"  By  leading  the  life.  Clumsy  scientific  men  torture 
animals  to  discover  the  secrets  of  life  and  death,  and  the 
more  suffering  they  inflict  the  denser  they  become,  the 
further  from  knowledge.  Knowledge  comes  of  the 
spirit ;  it  dwells  not  in  matter." 

"  But  1  want  love,"  said  Babs  ;  "  the  dear  human  love. 
Nothing  else  will  content  me." 

"  Babs,  you  and  1  have  both  made  mistakes,"  he  an- 
swered. "  It  is  in  the  nature  of  this  ill-balanced  human- 
ity of  ours  to  go  to  extremes.  I  have  lived  for  the  spirit, 
suppressing  the  flesh  altogether ;  that  was  my  mistake. 

461 


BABS       THE       IMPOSSIBLE 

You  are  living  for  the  flesh.  Will  you  not  try  and  live 
a  little  for  the  spirit  ?  There  is  no  joy  comparable  to 
the  spiritual  ecstasy.  Joys  of  the  flesh  are  the  lowest 
of  all.  Even  intellect  uninformed  of  the  spirit  is  cold 
comfort." 

"  I  believe  you,"  said  Babs.  "  I  believe  you.  But 
first  I  must  experience  the  dear  human  joys — I  must !" 

Now  to  herself  she  repeated  the  words  triumphantly, 
and  with  a  singular  sense  of  power.  It  was  as  though 
she  were  compelling  circumstances  to  submit  to  her  or- 
dering :  "  I  must— I  will !" 

"Change  under  the  change-colored  arches 

Of  changeless  morning  and  night; 
Change  under  the  change-colored  arches 
Of  changeless  morning  and  night." 

Uninterruptedly  the  measure  of  words,  meaningless 
to  her,  ran  on  and  on,  until  at  last  incessant  repetition 
wove  the  spell  by  which  thought  is  suspended.  Stum- 
bling unawares  upon  the  means,  she  had  put  her  busy 
brain  out  of  action  and  released  her  spirit.  In  her  ears 
was  a  strange  rushing  sound  for  a  little,  and  then  dark- 
ness— slowly  drawn  like  a  large  curtain — gathered  about 
her.  Passing  from  out  of  the  darkness  into  a  great  light, 
she  found  herself  face  to  face  with  Cadenhouse.  She 
knew  not  what  haven  she  had  reached,  upon  what  fur- 
ther stone  she  stood  ;  but  there  they  met. 

Her  brother's  voice  recalled  her. 

"  You  did  well  to  come,  Babs,"  he  was  saying.  "  You 
are  looking  splendid  already." 

"  She  will  not  marry  him,"  Babs  prophesied .  "  I  know 
she  won't." 


THE  END 


BY  EGBERT  W.  CHAMBERS 


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